


Dancing at the Laguna Azul

by SelahSeftali



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bisexuality is a thing I promise, But he has sexy secrets, Clint Barton saunters around gay clubs wearing sleeveless cowboy gear because of course he does, F/F, F/M, Jasper Sitwell is a power bottom or he could be if he wanted to, Jasper Sitwell is every cuddly leather daddy's dream cum true, M/M, Maria and Pepper are squad goals, Natasha Romanov is a wedding planner, Or maybe it's a cover who knows, Phil Coulson is totally straight, Sexy Dancing, Steve Rogers is still the team's grandpa, Tony Stark is a boring married man but not really, explicit gay sex, flamboyant cocktails, gay clubs, mild Bdsm elements, until he's not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-02 09:43:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14541984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SelahSeftali/pseuds/SelahSeftali
Summary: It's an unremarkable Thursday night for Phil Coulson, corporate lawyer. He's a straight, newly-single, forty-something workaholic who is hoping to unwind with some drinks with a few colleagues when a man with a gorgeous smile and the sexiest arms Phil has ever seen have him questioning what he wants out of life...or at least for the rest of the night, anyway.***I have no idea what this is, really. I just wanted to post a fanfic for the first time in my life. So here it is.***





	1. Dancing at the Laguna Azul

They entered the narrow tunnel of the entryway, checking sport coats, dress jackets, and briefcases at the old-fashioned semi-circular coat check desk, next to which an electric blue script spelled out "Laguna Azul."

Laguna Azul was a restored relic of 1950’s Miami just a few miles away from the luxury and exuberance of South Beach, toward Little Havana, where the history of a complex, multicultural city still clung to the bones of a bygone era.

The narrow hallway was crowded on both sides with black and white photos and old marquee posters of musical acts that once graced the Laguna Azul stage-- remnants of its efflorescence. The entryway opened up to a surprisingly expansive two-story open space. An anachronistic albeit stylishly designed four-man bar lined with round stools stretched along the expanse of the left wall. No wall was painted the same hue, and vibrant blues, greens, red, and golds came together in an explosion of color.

The polished parquet floors were banded in both dark and light stained woods and arranged in a star pattern that moved out away from the center of the main floor, which was encircled by palm trees rising up from gigantic, colorful pots surrounded at the base by tropical plants. Realistic carvings of brightly-painted tropical birds hung here and there from the trees among sparsely-laid white twinkle lights. Large, red round booths and smaller wooden tables and chairs were spread out over the expanse of the floor space.

The open two-story courtyard of the main floor was topped by an exposed ceiling of wooden beams and skylights, which during the day, flooded the open, airy space in natural light, giving patrons the sensation of being outside as they dined on authentic Cuban food and cocktails.

And every night, Wednesday to Sunday, Laguna Azul was transformed into a nightclub. The tables were cleared out of the center of the main floor to make room for a dance floor flooded by pink and blue stage lights. Most nights, live bands played an eclectic variety of Latin music from Cuban jazz and salsa to samba and bossa nova.

It was one of those Latin music-infused Thursday nights when the quintet of once well-groomed corporate professionals shed their jackets and ties at the threshold of the Laguna Azul, looking to cut loose after a long day of panel discussions, conference lectures, and power-suit themed meet and greets. The lively, exciting sounds of meringue thrummed through the club as the soft electric pinks, blues, and purples from the stage lights painted over the otherwise dim lighting of the club.

"Oh my...," Pepper stared in open-mouthed wonderment around the lively, colorful space.

"God," Maria finished. "It looks like my niece's quinces took acid and then threw up in here."

"Would that be the one whose brother tried to make out with his distant cousin at the reception, and then her boyfriend's best friend got drunk and fell into the cake during the father-daughter waltz, and your abuela beat him over the head with her purse until he threw up on your aunt?" Jasper asked, drawing amused stares from the others in the remainder of their little group. "What? It was a very memorable day!"

"Why do you only remember the embarrassing shit I tell you?" Maria grumbled, chagrined.

"That's not all he remembers. And hey, at least you fit in with the local culture around here," Tony placated, slapping him none too gently on the back.

"I'm Honduran-American not Cuban, you racist little leprechaun asshole," Jasper flared before Maria grabbed the man around the neck and kissed his cheek to ease the sting of Tony’s retort. His cheeks flamed pink, and he smiled goofily as Maria shoved him away, laughing.

Pepper leaned against Phil’s arm and whispered conspiratorially in his ear, "So, when's the wedding already?"

Phil shook his head and rolled his eyes. "They can't even admit they're crazy about each other," he chuckled under his breath.

"Does that mean they're still not sleeping together?"

"Nothing since the Mistletoe Mishap at the office Christmas party last year, but I think the entire office has a pool going by now."

"How long has that been going on? They were doing the same flirty-fighting thing when I saw you at the conference in Malibu. When was that? A year and a half ago?"

"Just be thankful you and Stark are on the other side of the country the rest of the year and not working and eating lunch with it at the office every day," Phil bemoaned.

They moved toward a cleared table between the bar and the expansive crowded dance floor, gaining a better vantage point from which to people watch.

"We should have networking breaks in here," Maria shouted over the din of the live band and general alcohol-induced pandemonium. "I'd rub a lot more shoulders in a place like this!"

"I think there's a lot more than shoulders being rubbed in this place," Jasper joked.

"I'm counting on that," Maria smiled brightly. "Now that we're surrounded by hot men who can actually dance."

"With each other," Jasper added, pointing an accusing finger out toward a particularly amorous couple, gyrating their hips together under the Easter egg lights.

And they were not the only ones, Phil realized as he scanned the floor. There were vastly more men dancing with other men than with women.

Jasper must have made the same (apparently alarming) observation because he cried out, "You brought us to a gay bar!"

Maria and Pepper giggled with wicked delight at his horrified expression.

"The desk clerk at the hotel-- what was his name, Sebastian?-- said this place had the best cocktails in town. And he may have mentioned the man-on-man themed Tuesdays and Thursdays, but I don't really remember," Maria explained with a malicious smirk.

" _Cock_ -tails is right," Jasper grumbled.

Tony blinked behind his brightly-tinted glasses. "That fruity little twink? I should have known.”

“I guess this is more your kind of scene, Tony," Pepper surmised, poking her colleague's side with a French tipped nail.

"Just because a particular establishment serves a chiefly gay male clientele hardly makes this 'my scene,' Pep," Tony sniffed, but his brown eyes glinted in amusement.

"Not a hint of beige or New England elitist snobbery in sight," Maria patted Tony on the shoulder. "Looks like you'll be slumming it tonight."

"I know, I know. You're a boring married man, Tones. We know," Jasper assuaged Tony's annoyed murmuring. "I'm just hoping I can be as boring and married as you and Steve someday. Until then, I'm going to give thanks to the warm climate and enjoy the half-naked scenery, even if my dreams of getting groped and taken home by a stranger aren't meant to be tonight!"

"Phil can grope you!" Maria solicited. "Although, he’s probably the only single, straight man in this place." Apparently, Jasper didn't count.

"How's that, Phil?” Tony inquired. “I thought you would have been married and living in suburbia with a couple of kids by now...with the uh, the cellist. Helen, was it?"

"Audrey," Phil corrected blandly, but his cold glare was all for Maria, who just shrugged and grinned.

"They broke up six months ago, and he's been insufferable-- well, more so than usual-- ever since. Maybe you can help put him out of our misery," Maria continued, unabashed.

But Pepper took in the tellingly blank expression and the stiffness of Phil's shoulders and took pity on him, placing an elegant hand over his.

"I'm sorry to hear about you and Audrey, Phil," Pepper condoled. "And if you're looking for a rebound, I've always had a bit of a crush on you," she added with a flirtatious little wink, which caused Phil to snort in sheer surprise. There was a reason they had always gotten along, despite any hostility he may have harbored toward her employer.

Phil smiled dutifully at the generous offer. “I don’t think Rhodey would appreciate your...generosity, Virginia.”

Pepper laughed, surprise in her voice, as she slapped his arm playfully. “Don’t you use my given name, Phillip! And Rhodey and I have an understanding. In theory.”

Pepper was a beauty, that was undeniable. A statuesque woman with fine-boned features and a creamy complexion. Even Tony would have to be blind not to notice what a stunning woman she was. But Phil had not been with anyone since Audrey. And before that, they had been together for over five years. The thought of sleeping with another woman as a way to get over his failed relationship sounded more depressing than helpful. He was a newly-single, forty year old workaholic and he had suddenly never been more tired in his life.

"You better take advantage now," Jasper advised Pepper. "This may be the last you see of Phil at one of these bullshit conferences."

Now even Tony was casting an inquisitive glance his way. "Going somewhere, Phil?" asked Tony in that ingratiating way of his that made Phil's name on the man's lips sound like a curse.

"Phil’s thinking of entering the private consultation sector,” Maria offered. That is, unless Nick could convince Phil to take the promotion he had been been trying to give him for the last few years. “Soon, he may be running things from the other side of the proverbial table.”

"I'm considering it," Phil sighed with irritation. He hated people speaking for him. And how had his life suddenly become the topic of conversation?

"Helping American corporate greed take over the world not as sexy and exciting as it used to be?" Tony asked not unkindly. “I admit, the allure lost its luster for me years ago,” he added softly, almost to himself, tone turning contemplative.

"You could say that," Phil offered vaguely, refusing to let Tony rile him up.

“Not all of us have an epic storybook romance with a could-be fitness model to rescue us from our darker instincts, Stark,” said Maria, pulling the spotlight away from Phil, but only for a moment.

Tony only grinned widely and shrugged unabashedly as he slouched down farther into his seat, throwing an arm over the back of his chair.

"Phil feels guilty about being a sell-out like the rest of us, who came out of the trenches still bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked and bent on saving the world and then rolled over and offered our asses up to a big, fat corporate paycheck like the whores we are," Jasper grinned playfully.

"Speak for yourself. Phil and I were always in it for the money. Right, Phil," Maria joked. Phil raised an eyebrow but said nothing to refute her. He knew she was only teasing.

"I don't know," Pepper said sincerely. ”Phil wasn’t always a corporate shill.” Before he had joined the ranks of the powerful corporate lawyers of Fury and Associates, Phil was a snot-nosed comic book nerd who had dreams of being a real-life superhero protecting innocents from the evils of the world like his boyhood hero, Captain America. “If any one of us still has a soul worth saving, it would be Phil."

"Hey, what about me?" Jasper whined.

"You're going to hell with the rest of us," Maria deadpanned.

"Well, at least I'll be with friends," Jasper smiled wolfishly.

"But first, drinks!" Tony chimed. "Where's our waiter?"

"As crowded as this place is? I think we might be quicker served directly at the bar. I'll get the first round if everyone will tell me what they want," Phil offered, hoping to escape more solicitations upon his newly-single status. Or worse, words of sympathy. If he had to hear one more _Sorry things didn't work out_ or _Hang in there_ or especially _You're still young!_ \-- as if the better part of a decade spent with one person with nothing to show for it somehow took all the sting out of his complete and utter failure-- he was going to put his fist through a wall. Or someone's face. Whichever got in his way first.

"A true gentleman," Pepper cooed.

AVAVAVA

Phil’s eyebrows threatened to disappear into his receding hairline when the bartender handed him a frivolous, fruity pink monstrosity in an equally ridiculous-looking glass with plastic swords of fruit and umbrellas piled on top of it. The Ultimate. It was ultimately something, that was for certain. There was so much crap sticking out of the glass, he feared the loss of an eye trying to drink from it. That was probably what the stupid loopy straw was for.

"Not what you were expecting?" inquired a pleasantly-warm, amused voice.

"Not exactly...," Phil began and turned to face the voice in his right ear.

"I saw the bartender putting that together and couldn't wait to see who it belonged to. I was certainly surprised," said the voice. "This doesn't exactly say to me 'connoisseur of appallingly flamboyant cocktails,'" said the voice, gesturing to Phil with an up and down sweep of his eyes.

The Voice belonged to a man a few inches shy of six feet, honey blond hair and kaleidoscope eyes obscured in the dim, falsely-colored light. He was leaning against the bar, facing Phil with open interest. He would have filled out a designer suit nicely but the man was currently doing justice to a very snug, very artfully worn pair of 501's and a sleeveless white western-style button-down, which showed off a pair of finely shaped biceps. He was a good-looking man. Even still, he might have been lost in the rest of the gorgeous model crowd that seemed to fill the club that night if not for that smile. It was the kind of smile for which people created words like "disarming." Wide, genuine, boyish, and warm, flashing white teeth and framed by deep laugh lines on either side. That was the kind of smile that could stop mid-day traffic.

And Phil was suddenly having the breath-catching moment of his life. He cleared his throat before he spoke. _What was the question? Was there a question? Oh god, am I supposed to say something? Why is my mouth suddenly so dry?_

"Uh...," he looked down, as if searching for his cue on the bar top, and saw the offensive drink. _Oh, yeah._ "Um, clearly, I had no idea what I was getting into. I'm more of a scotch on the rocks type of person."

The other man wrinkled his nose.

"Not a fan of scotch? Yeah, I didn't used to be either. I suppose it's one of the many hazards of the job. My mentor used to keep a bottle in his desk. We'd sip it together in his office to unwind after a long week, and it made me feel like an equal when, really, I was just this pipsqueak kid allowed his first turn at the adult table. Gave me a bottle of 1958 single malt Highland Park after I passed the bar...." _And why the hell am I still talking?_ He picked up the drink, if only to gather his thoughts and keep him from saying something even more asinine and stupid, and took a sip, grimacing at the disgustingly sugary taste.

"Guh! It tastes like liquid candy and cough syrup," he choked.

The other man laughed as the bartender placed a few drinks in front of him. "Here. Try this," Mr. Seductive Arms said, sliding another glass in front of him.

This second mysterious concoction looked a little less like something from the mind of Willy Wonka's gay brother and not so embarrassing for a man to be seen holding it. That was something, at least. Phil took a tentative taste. Much better. Perfect, in fact.

"Not bad."

"Enjoy that one on me then."

"Thanks."

"You look like you need it," he shrugged. "So, you’re a lawyer, huh? Yeah, I can see that. At first, I thought military. Maybe alphabet soup. I can usually tell from the shoulders, you know,” Mr. Dazzling White Teeth observed, biting his lip and giving Phil and his broad shoulders another appreciative once-over. “But then, feds and spooks usually go for the off-the-rack look and less bespoke.”

Phil’s brow twitched. _Impressive_ , he thought. “I was speaking at a conference today, luring the next generation of potential do-gooder, world-savers to use their force for the dark side of international law. If you’re going to play the devil, you might as well wear it well.”

The other man laughed, and Phil decided then to make it a goal to get as many of those out of him as possible. God, he felt drunk already and he had not even started.

"Hmm. Smart, successful, self-deprecating, and a sci-fi nerd. You're getting more and more tempting by the minute." The smile turned decidedly heated, and Phil swore he could feel it warming his skin.

"So what brings you here?" Phil asked, trying to distract the intense focus of the man whose arm was this close to brushing against him. _When had he moved so close?_

"I am here strictly for pleasure," said Mr. Smoldering Dimples, purring suggestively, and then broke the spell by snorting at his clumsy seduction. "Actually, it's a double celebration. My friend, Natasha, just hooked a whale of a new client, and they gave us a suite at our hotel practically for free. It's also my birthday this week."

"Happy birthday. Now I feel like I should be buying you a drink."

"You can get the next one," he said leaning even closer. Phil could practically feel the other man's breath on his cheek.

Another body pressed up against Phil's left side, snapping Phil back into reality. "Hey, what's the hold up? We're dying of thirst over there! Oh, what's that?” Jasper said with wide eyes, pointing to the gayest looking cocktail of all time.

Phil pushed the glass toward him. "Here. You can have it."

Jasper picked up the glass and took a long sip through the straw. "Hot damn, that's delicious! I never order the floofy girly drinks. Now I know why Maria likes them so much. I've been missing out!" Jasper gathered up a couple more drinks off the bar and turned toward the table. "Come on! Bring the other drinks!"

"Uh...," Phil turned back to Mr. Intoxicating Grin. "Clearly, he's more secure in his masculinity than I am."

The blond chuckled. "Well, my friends are thirsty too, so...."

"Oh, sure...." Was that a twinge of disappointment he felt in his chest?

"But I won't forget about that drink you promised me," he said, restoring Phil's hope. And with that, he moved off into the crowd.

It was only after he had gone that Phil realized he never asked the man for his name.

***

Phil returned to the table with the rest of the drink order and was immediately assaulted.

"So who's the guy?" Tony pounced before he could even finish sitting down.

"What guy?" Phil asked innocently.

Tony snorted. "The hot guy giving you the major lean at the bar."

"I somehow unwittingly ordered that thing," Phil pointed at the tragedy in a glass that Jasper was sucking up, blissfully ignorant. "And he took pity on me and gave me this," he summarized, holding up his glass.

"You let another man buy you a drink? In a gay bar?" Maria asked amused. "How secure-in-your-masculinity of you."

"Hope he doesn't expect you to put out like some dickhead straight guy," Jasper cut in.

"Oh, honey, you're not a dickhead anymore," Maria soothed, patting Jasper’s knee.

"Wha? Oh, shut up." Then Jasper got that look that said he was about to say something truly stupid that he thought was positively brilliant before thinking it through. "Why shouldn't Phil let some guy buy him a drink? That sounds like a great plan! You women have it so easy. You can just show up at a bar or club and drink for free all night!"

"Nothing's free," Pepper intoned.

"Nope," Maria joined. "It's a fine art, a cat and mouse game. Not just any woman can get a man to buy her a drink. She's got to work him a little. In fact...," Maria's voice took on that tone that said Jasper should be very afraid of whatever she was about to suggest. "Since we're obviously not going to be drinking for free tonight...." Pepper caught on to the game and leaned forward in hunting mode, smiling like a cheshire cat. "We could offer you our services in the art of securing an endless supply of free drinks," Maria continued.

"After tonight, you'll never have to pay for another drink again," Pepper promised.

Jasper looked as if he was actually considering it, and then they knew they had him. Tony and Phil locked amused eyes across the table in a gesture of relunctant camaraderie. They knew their colleagues too well. Poor obtuse bastard. Time to wrap up the pitch and bring it home.

"I'll make you a deal," Maria supplied. Maria hated making deals. Her colleagues had even nicknamed her No Deal Maria. Jasper should be running, screaming out the front door about now if he knew what was good for him. "If you let Pepper and I teach you what we know and it doesn't get the free booze pouring in," Maria leaned into Jasper, giving him a peek at her cleavage and looking positively feral. "I'll buy your drinks for the rest of the night. No! The next three months."

"Deal!" Jasper snatched up the bait.

Tony stifled his sniggering behind his glass.

"He graduated top of his class, but you'd never know it," Phil stage whispered to Pepper.

"Okay," Maria said, rubbing her hands together in preparation. "Now first, you have to decide on your approach, which will determine the kind of guy you snag and which will, in turn, tell you how fast and how many drinks you have coming. Some men, like the tourists or the Tomcats, will only be willing to buy you a single, cheap cocktail and then give up and go find someone else. You don't want that guy," Maria lectured, shaking her head, which Jasper mirrored obediently. "He's only looking for the quickest way into your pants and doesn't know your true value."

Jasper sipped at the last of Phil's rejected drink and listened with rapt attention.

"And then there are the other classifications of men, like the Don Juans and the Casanovas, who love the thrill of the chase,” said Pepper, with a sly, pointed glance toward Tony.

“Hey, I’m a respectable, married man now,” Tony huffed.

“Tony, sweetheart. You’ll never be respectable.”

“Don’t flatter me, Pep. It’ll go to my head,” Tony grinned, placated as he took up his drink once more.

“Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. You see, some men want you to resist because they pride themselves on the skill and ultimate victory of the hunt. They'll ply you with liquor all night, relentless against your rejections, trying to get you to capitulate," Pepper explained pedantically.

"But you have to have just the right approach," Maria added.

"Right. Take Mr. Suit, for example." Phil flashed his eyes in warning at Pepper but then went back to nursing his Old Fashioned. "Look at the way he's dressed, his body language."

The table turned their collective attention on Phil, who sat seemingly oblivious to their scrutiny. His brown hair was fastidiously cut and styled. Piercing, intelligent blue eyes peered alertly out of thick-rimmed glasses on his strongly defined face. The dark blue slacks of his suit were carefully cut, lengthening his legs. The pristine white dress shirt perfectly tailored, showing he had just the right amount of muscle to fill out his slim, athletic frame.

"Legs crossed, a hand on his knee, he never puts down his drink," Pepper pointed out each observation. "He's looking coolly detached and only moderately interested in the goings on around him. Even the drink he's holding. An old-fashioned, elegant cocktail that not many people could pull off. It all but screams that this is a man who enjoys the finer things, knows his worth, and will make you work for him. But he’ll also treat you."

"Phil could sweep up in a place like this. But that's not going to work for you, Jas," Maria concluded.

"What? Why? I thought you said those guys will buy me expensive drinks all night."

"That's true. But you can't pull that off. And plus, Phil looks like a GQ model in that suit, and even we can't make that kind of miracle happen."

Phil snorted elegantly into the drink he was touching to his lips. Tony outright guffawed at Jasper's look of pure, full-bodied, slap-shocked insult. The women shushed and petted him until he looked somewhat mollified.

"Well, what about the guy who was all over Phil? Phil scored a drink in, like, five minutes!"

Maria and Pepper smiled patronizingly at their little protege.

"First of all, honey," Maria explained. "That sweet, sexy guy with Phil isn't looking to just give away free drinks. Oh, no. They'll cost you. Because he's actually interested in getting to know you. Those guys will want to date you. Whatever drinks you get from guys like him will require you to lead them on, and even you aren't that cruel."

Phil's face felt hot hearing them discuss the other man. He suddenly became very interested in his near-empty glass.

"Secondly," Pepper enumerated. "Phil's got the whole cool and competent thing going on. He's an alpha male who will draw in the more submissive males looking to, well, submit to his machismo ways.”

Phil snorted to himself. He was hardly macho. The man for was trying for monk status at this rate. He did not need even a whole hand to count the number of people he had slept with in the last ten years.

“And sweetheart," Maria said with a quick full-body scan, "that ain't you."

"Are you saying I'm not manly enough?!" Jasper practically squeaked out his disbelief. Phil and Tony both were openly laughing now as Jasper's face grew hot and flushed. "I'll show you manly!"

"Now don't get us wrong," Maria added quickly, trying to stave off Jasper's burgeoning hissy fit. "Don't start whippin your dick out or anything. You're a decent-looking guy. You also have approachability, and that's a huge advantage."

That seemed to quiet down the affronted man a bit.

"There's really only two men who will pay for what you're selling," Pepper concluded, as both women looked him over, shaking their heads.

Jasper was what you would call your typical beta-male or whatever other patriarchal bullshit term one used for an unassuming, not-quite middle-aged, moderately-successful man. Mediocre but with potential, in other words. He was well-built but on the shorter side. Maybe 5'9" with lifts and good posture. He had lively brown eyes and an unassuming quality to his gentle, almost boyish face. He was not what one would call a tall drink of water, but there was a wholesome, affable quality to his outward persona.

Tony laughed loudly, drawing the attention of the group. "They'll eat him alive. Why don't you just cover him in honey and throw him to the bears. He'll be lucky to escape with his virtue intact."

"That's only one kind of man," Maria admonished.

"Cut it out, Tony. You're scaring the poor guy," Pepper said, cuddling Jasper.

"I'm sincerely beginning to regret this deal," Jasper mumbled into his empty glass.

"There's another kind," Maria continued, "but it'll require us to meet him halfway." Maria downed the rest of her daiquiri in one swallow and stood up, pulling Jasper with her. "Come on," she beckoned, tugging against Jasper's resistance. "You're going to dance between me and Pepper, so that we can protect your virtue!"

Jasper's eyes brightened immediately, and he let himself be dragged off toward the proverbial gay lion's den. He looked like a lamb being led to the slaughter.

Tony stood from the cleared table. "I'm going to step outside for a smoke," he announced, pulling a cigar from the pocket of his linen suit, although Phil knew it was most likely an excuse to excuse himself from the crowded club so that he could call his husband. Phil resisted the urge to sigh wistfully to himself.

Left alone, Phil searched the club casually, not really looking for anything or anyone in particular. Of course, if he just happened to meet a certain luminous smile across the dance floor....

Phil stopped by the men's room and then made his way to the bar to order another drink, looking out across the club from the improved vantage point. After about ten minutes of fruitless scanning, he decided that either the other man had left or he was somewhere on the other side of the dance floor and Phil would not know for sure until he was out there.

Phil pushed and angled his way through the throng of gyrating hips and stomping feet. He was almost all the way to the opposite side of the floor when he heard a collective, "Hey! Phil!"

Well, Jasper looked perfectly blissful at being made the manmeat portion of a Pepper and Maria lady-wich.

"Come dance with us!" Maria called above the music, grabbing his arm and pulling him behind her. Phil took a last look around the dance floor as he let himself be moved by the harmony of hands and brass, joining in on the rhythm of the trio. He felt long-fingered hands rubbing over his back and looked over his shoulder to find Pepper’s emerald eyes smiling back at him.

"Oh, Phil," Pepper exclaimed with delighted surprise, turning to face him. "Look at you move, honey!"

Phil was a fairly good dancer, which he owed almost entirely to his sisters, who started using him as their practice dance partner when he was nine. They used to tease him about his "natural rhythm." But he could not be bothered to care. It had worked so often in his favor. Even if he could not find a date to a dance or party, he could always coax a pretty girl out onto the dance floor when her own date refused to make a fool of himself to please her. And he could recall a particularly heated dance off battle during a middle school spring social that had made him one of the most popular kids in the eighth grade.

It had been a long time since he had a couple of beautiful women on his arm, and Phil let the familiar drug of bodies and bass dull his senses, let the fingers card through his hair and rub against his chest and back. He was lost in the haze of drums and hands and the sweltering heat of too many bodies moving too close together so he did not notice the interloper come up behind their little dance party and tap Pepper on the shoulder, holding a finger against his lips as she smiled and moved aside.

The small, gentle slide of hands over Phil's torso became large, firm gropes. Phil whipped around to find Mr. Sexy Smile turning all that wattage on him. Phil stumbled in surprise, but the man just pressed up closer against him, bumping his hips into Phil's and practically forcing Phil to move with him or step away.

"Uh...." He looked around frantically for his friends, but it seemed as if they had been swallowed up in the throng. He could not see them anywhere, and that smile was currently turned to seduction mode, as his hips undulated with Phil’s own, trying to find the right rhythm, and his tight, lithe body, like liquid heat, crashed in waves up against him to the beat of the music set to the tempo of...orgasmic. Phil had to admit, the man could move

"If I'd known what you could do on a dance floor, I would have stolen you from your friends a long time ago," the man purred, soft lips brushing against his ear. "I almost swallowed my own tongue when I saw you writhing between those two women, letting them touch you all over. I knew right then it had to be my hands all over you."

Phil was achingly, maddeningly hard instantly, and his hands reflexively grabbed the hips to stop the man from rubbing against him. But the hands had a mind of their own as they skimmed up the blond's sides and around his strong shoulders then slid down, resting at the small of his back. Traitorous bastards! The younger man arched against him, inviting the touches, gliding his own hands up Phil’s arms and across his shoulders, wrapping around his neck, pressing even closer, if that was even possible at this point. Phil would have been inside of the man if they got any closer, and his cock pulsed at that thought, as if to say, "What an excellent idea!"

And then Phil was grabbing twin handfuls of luscious round ass and pressing his face to the man's warm neck, taking a deep inhale of the man’s intoxicating scent. An answering arousal rubbed against his own, and he groaned against the man's skin. He smelled fucking delicious-- all strong masculine freshness, some perfectly-balanced amalgam of cologne, fabric softener, sweat, and.... fuck. Sex. He smelled like bottled sex. Warm and spicy. Inundating his senses. He was completely drowning in this man. He took one, long lick up the side of the man's neck and felt a shudder pass through the strong body pressed against him. Or maybe the shudder came from him. He could not tell. They felt like one flesh at that moment, moving together, without thought or effort, in an instinctual rhythm their bodies seemed to have always known. He could not remember being swept away by lust like this since...well, ever. And while Phil’s mind was deciding to have that little revelation, he also realized that he had never danced with another man in his life. Only, it was less like dancing then and more like trying to have sex standing up with clothes on. And there he was, in a Miami gay bar, with professional colleagues who could possibly see him, Mr. Straight All-American Professional, sexing up another man in public. And that thought finally poured a little cold water over their lickerishly molten maddness, allowing him to put some space between them.

The other man's blue-gray eyes slowly opened as he was released, and he looked a lot like Phil felt: surprised and disoriented with the shock of overwhelming lust.

"Um, I have to...go...and find my friends," Phil said sluggishly, motioning vaguely in any direction, struggling to shake off whatever spell the man had cast on him. He turned and pushed his way forcefully through the crowd, feeling more clear-headed and, therefore, increasingly more mortified with every step.

Phil had no idea how long he had been out on the dance floor with Mr. Naughty Hips but he was searching his mind frantically for some excuse to give his friends. Of course, if any one of them had actually seen the two of them together.... Had he really just grabbed a strange man's ass and licked his neck? Holy hell, he did not know how he was going to explain that one away.

As Phil made his way to the opposite end of the dance floor toward their table, the music changed to an Argentine tango, and he was doubly thankful he had dodged that bullet. As he was reaching the end of the dance floor, the mood of the crowd seemed to suddenly change and the crowd thickened and moved closer together. What the…. Phil looked around, searching for the source of the sudden change in atmosphere. People were slowing down, looking behind Phil, and some couples had stopped dancing all together to observe. Phil turned back around toward where he had abandoned his own dance partner and saw two men were currently giving the crowd quite a show in the sexiest tango he had ever seen in his life.

A broad-shouldered, blond-haired man was holding his shorter, dark-haired partner in a close embrace as they "walked" across the floor. Phil observed the way they moved, their chests pressed together, their heads nearly touching, their legs gently brushing as they passed and crossed one another. They made quite a pair, the two of them: the tall, well-built man leading his smaller, well-dressed partner.

_Wait. Was that...? Steve and Tony?!_

Phil stared with wide, incredulous eyes. He never would have imagined that the normally reserved, blushing blond could move with such...sensuality... such passion.... He was an attractive man. Even the straightest, most macho-y straight guy could admit that. But something about Steve’s cool detachment and poise lent a certain untouchable quality to the man. He knew Steve was gay and married to another man but he had also kind of imagined-- okay, well, maybe not "imagined" per se, but if he had let himself think about it, he would have said that he had always pictured Steve as being somewhat asexual. Or he would have had Steve not been married to the posterboy for America's gay playboy hedonist. Of course, Phil had rarely observed Steve in his personal life or with his partner in their more private moments. As exuberant and affectionate as Tony could be, his husband was not one for overt public displays apart from the occasional, chaste hand-holding. Phil had hardly seen Steve more than shake hands with another man, so perhaps that had something to do with it. But looking at Steve now.... Phil swallowed convulsively. Now he knew what they meant when he heard women say it was difficult to look at Steve directly, as if they were speaking of angels or the face of God or something.

Phil had never seen men dance that way together. And the way Steve and Tony were dancing now looked nothing short of completely natural. They made the act of men moving sensuously together look as if their bodies were made for that very purpose. And suddenly, Phil was wondering how he would look with another man. Would it look as natural as it had felt?

"Hot damn! That man is sex on legs!" Maria said from behind him. "I didn't think he had it in him!"

"His mother was a dance instructor," Pepper explained from beside them. "Steve was some kind of junior ballroom champion when he was younger.”

"I feel like I need to rethink my whole life right about now," Maria croaked.

Phil was thinking along the same lines but he'd be damned if he was going to admit it.

Pepper laughed. "You're just in shock. You'll get over it, and Steve will go back to being a cardigan-wearing, curmudgeon lecturing us about using strong language in mixed company and the world will settle on its axis once more."

The dance ended, and it took Phil a delayed moment to make his feet move. When he returned to their table, he found Maria and Pepper giggling mischievously over their topped glasses.

"Do I even want to know?"

"Heya, Phil!" Maria called out a bit too loudly. God, just how long had he been out there? She had seemed sober the last time he saw her. "We've been bad," she said in the most insincere, puppy-dog pouty face he had ever seen.

He could not help but chuckle and take the bait. "Alright. What did the two of you do?"

"Turns out women really can drink for free at a gay bar!" Pepper proclaimed happily, lifting her glass as if in a cheer.

"Yeppers! This fiiine hunk of man meat paid us in free drinks to abandon our protection detail on Jasper," she explained giddily.

Phil shook his head. Not even a hint of remorse. For shame. "So, you just abandoned him out there?”

"He's a grown man, Phil. He can take care of himself," Maria waved her hand dismissively.

"Speaking of which. It looked like you were doing just fine on your own," Pepper smirked around the little black cocktail straw.

"Mighty fine," Maria added with a salacious grin.

Oh, god. Now he was in it. He opened his mouth to answer, mentally praying for divine intervention....

"What are you two harpies going on about?" Tony asked, setting a round of drinks on the table.

_Thank you, Jesus!_

"You really don't deserve these. I saw what you did to Jasper," Steve admonished the unrepentant women.

"But we're ever so thankful for your generosity," Pepper said as Maria nodded enthusiastically.

"You can thank Jasper for those."

Phil told himself it was his own guilt imagining the knowing smirk Steve flashed at him as he spoke to the others.

"So, whatever happened to your blond drink of water?" Pepper asked, looking directly at Phil.

_Oh, shit._

"We wanted to stay and watch the show but we had to go save Jasper from being molested by some daddy in a mesh tank top," Maria said.

Phil exhaled a sigh of relief. In that case…. "Nothing happened," he lied through his damn teeth. "I owed him a drink, that's all."

"Oh, that's too bad," Maria pouted. "It's about time you moved on and started having some semblance of a love life again."

"And what about the last eight or so years you've known me and seen me with only one woman would bring you to the conclusion that I might possibly want to have any kind of "love life" with a man I met at a gay bar?" Phil argued.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Maria asked with round, sincere eyes, except that he could see one side of her mouth twitch up around her straw as she took another sip. He rolled his eyes and shut his mouth, ignoring their snickers.

"So where's Jasper then?" Phil asked looking around. "I thought you said you rescued him."

"Only to turn right around and ransom him off for the pathetically low price of a few cocktails," Tony interjected.

"I'm sure Jasper will be delighted to know just what a pittance is the price of his virtue,” Phil lectured.

Beside him, Tony whistled. “Speaking of the devil...."

Jasper approached the table looking breathless and more than a little put out. "Some guy grabbed my dick! Right in front of God and everyone! I can't believe the audacity! If that's what women have to do to drink for free, then I'll pay for my own damn drinks!" Jasper raved, full of righteous indignation.

"I suppose I owe you for those," Maria said chastised, gesturing to the drinks on the table.

"Oh, you owe me alright. But not for those, I didn't buy them."

"But I thought you just said...."

"Then how...," Maria and Pepper started at the same time.

"You didn't let the molester buy your drinks, did you? That's no-no number one," Maria chided.

"I sure as hell did! I told Mr. Grabby Hands that I wasn't just some little floozy he could feel up and expect to be thanked for it like it was some kind of favor to me. I don't come with the price of admission like access to the furniture! I told him that if he was going to feel me up like he was testing out some merchandise, then he could at least buy me and my friends a round of drinks for my trouble." Jasper threw himself in a chair and crossed his arms in agitation.

"And he actually bought these?" Maria was incredulous.

Pepper looked almost proud.

"Of course he did! And I made him apologize," Jasper said haughtily.

"It was quite entertaining," Tony said with a surprised chuckle. "He was falling all over himself to appease Jasper, looking like a penitent little dog trying get back into his master's favor."

“You would know,” Steve whispered hotly into his husband’s ear, and Tony struggled valiantly not to blush.

"Who knew that Jasper was such a little power bottom," Maria giggled.

"What's a power bottom?" Jasper asked. "Is that some kind of gay thing?!"

They were all laughing uproariously now, while Jasper looked thoroughly perplexed.

"Oh, shit!" Jasper squeaked, trying to slide down below the table. "It's him!"

The group swerved their heads collectively to get a look at Jasper’s not-so-secret admirer. He was a tall man, a few inches over six feet, and very brawny. His hair was shaved close to the scalp on the sides, and the black leather pants and mesh tank he wore revealed thick, muscular legs and arms, with a full tattoo sleeve. Through the barely-there material of his shirt, one could see his intimidatingly rippled abs and a little metal barbell piercing through each of the man's nipples.

"Oh, my...," Phil gasped, tucking his lips between his teeth to keep from laughing.

The man's eyes lit up as he caught sight of Tony, remembering the man as Jasper’s friend.

"We've been spotted," Tony told Jasper, who was trying to scurry under the table next to Tony’s chair. "I think this may be our cue to cut and run."

AVAVAVA

A very intoxicated Jasper stumbled into his room and promptly passed out across the bed, while Steve and Phil escorted a tipsy, giggling Tony, Pepper, and Maria to their suites a few doors down. They had stayed for a few more rounds after their run in with Jasper’s "puppy." Maria and Pepper had invited him to sit at their table, smiling like (as Jasper had called them) the "devious hags" they were, as they watched the gentle giant fawning over their "angry Latino leprechaun."

"I will never forget this night for as long as I live," Maria proclaimed, stumbling into her room and falling back on to the bed, arms flung out wide.

"Did you see the little hearts and stars shooting out of his eyes every time Jasper slapped his hands and bitched him out?" Pepper gasped out between laughs and almost falling face-first into the floor trying to get her shoes off.

"It was priceless! But I kind of felt bad for the guy when Jasper finally admitted he was straight."

"Poor guy looked positively heartbroken."

"I know. I feel like we're almost partially to blame for that," Maria said, sobering.

"Not almost," Steve cut in, hoisting a passed-out Tony over one brawny shoulder.

"Perhaps that will teach you to go meddling," Phil reprimanded them.

"And miss out on all that free entertainment and blackmail material?! No way!" Maria said, inciting more fits of giggles between the two.

"You two are incorrigible," Steve said, shaking his head and walking out the door.

"And on that note...," Phil preambled. "Goodnight, ladies."

"Goodnight!" the women echoed as the door closed behind him.

AVAVAVA

Phil was waiting for the elevator to take him up a couple floors to his own room, and the elevators doors had just slid open when he heard a harried voice call out, "Hold the elevator!"

He turned to see Mr. Sex on a Stick limping up to him with a curvy, clearly-intoxicated redhead hanging from his side, and his heart slammed into overdrive in his chest.

"Oh, hey! It's you! Mr. Cute Cocktail Guy."

"And you're Mr. Gorgeous Smile," Phil thought to himself.

"Really?!"

Phil felt a crimson blush creep up his neck and heat his entire face. Had he actually said that out loud?! How fucking embarrassing. He prayed the floor would collapse beneath him and save him further shame.

"I’m sorry," Phil mumbled.

And then they were stuck in an elevator together. At least there was a third party there between them to keep him safe. _Safe from what, you imbecile? What are you afraid of? What he might do? Or what you might do? Oh my god, Phil. You are completely losing your shit!_

"Don't be! That's a way better name than Mr. Cute Cocktail Guy."

"It's Phil, actually," he said, finally gathering some modicum of his wits about him to at least feign he was a sane human being.

"Phil," the man repeated, drawing the name out like he was testing the feel of it in his mouth, as if he had never heard of it before. "It's nice to finally put a name with a face. My name's Clint. And my inebriated friend here is Natasha." Natasha took that moment to try and sit down right in the doorway of the elevator. "Oh, no! Not there, in here." Clint tugged his friend all the way inside the elevator and propped her up against the elevator wall.

"What floor, Clint?" Phil released his hold on the doors and let them slide closed.

"Twelve, please." Natasha was now slowly sliding toward the bottom of the elevator.

"Oh, we're on the same floor." Well, this was some scintillating conversation.

"Good," Clint said. "Uh, I mean, um, that you didn't have to push another button." Clint visibly cringed, and Phil's lips twitched trying to hold back a smile.

"It was hardly any trouble," Phil said, suddenly awash with relief that the other man seemed as flustered as he felt.

Under the fluorescent lighting, Phil could finally see that his once-nameless stranger had light hazel eyes that seemed to change color among shades of blue and gray and green. Hazel eyes and blond hair. And dimples. God. He had a sudden, compelling want to just lick him all over. _What the hell? Get a hold of yourself!_

"Is your friend going to be okay?" Phil inquired, gesturing to the murmuring woman sitting on the elevator floor.

"Who...? Oh, you mean this only other person in the elevator? Jesus.... Um, yes, she'll be fine. She's a bit of a lightweight, this one."

The doors slid open, and Phil watched Clint struggle to lift Natasha and reposition her against his side and move them out of the elevator. Phil finally thought to move to pick up the intoxicated woman's other arm and pull it around his shoulders. "Which way?"

"Oh, thanks. Um, to the right."

Standing in front of Clint's hotel room, Phil shouldered Natasha while Clint dug for his card key and opened the door. They shuffled Natasha to the closest bed and dumped her, unceremoniously, onto the bedspread.

Phil stood there awkwardly, watching as Clint removed his friend's strappy heels. "l, uh...didn't see you again after we, uh...you know, after we...danced. I thought you'd left." _Real smooth, Phil._ Why did he suddenly feel the need to fill in awkward silences?

"I spent some time in the club bathroom with Natasha bent over a toilet, trying to get her to regurgitate some of the poison she consumed tonight, but she kept trying to fall asleep on it. We were in there for a while," he sighed as he wrestled to get the covers pulled back with Natasha passed out on top of them.

Phil kept wondering if he should leave, but then Clint had tucked in Natasha and that smile was heading toward him, full blast. Clint took Phil by the arm and led him out of the bedroom.

"Many a night with Natasha has ended in my carrying her drunk ass home. But trying to keep her out of trouble has kept me out of a lot of trouble of my own, so I guess I should be thanking her," Clint was brushing unnecessarily close against him.

Now they were just standing there close together, looking at one another. Clint looked as if he was waiting on some sort of cue from Phil. It felt like that moment at the end of the night when you turned to your date and either said goodnight or invited them in for a nightcap, which, of course, was just crazy. They were not on a date and they were both men and Phil was straight. Mostly. But for the rest of Phil’s life, he would never know what in the holy hell possessed him to say the next words that tumbled thoughtlessly out of his mouth.

"Wanna get into some trouble?"

Phil was pretty sure the look of utter, delighted shock that washed over the younger man's face mirrored his own at hearing himself say something so unbelievable...and cheesy. But it lasted just a blink, and then there was that smile again, turned up to eleven, and Phil exhaled. Who was he kidding? He was already in trouble. Deep trouble.

"Always,” Clint said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a second part around here somewhere with some smut in it. I'll post it as soon as I find it. Comments appreciated.


	2. Finding Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I said that the next part would have “some smut in it.” That was a dirty lie. It’s all smut. Just a lot of smutty smut. Almost too much, actually, and I’m honestly embarrassed. Sorry. Or you’re welcome? I don’t want it to seem as if I’m putting a lot of thought and effort into this because I’m really not. This is just for fun on a whim, okay? I literally write at random and then realize it’s full of holes and mistakes after I’ve already posted it. That said, thanks for reading. I appreciate you so much.
> 
> ***Notice I updated the tags and relationships. I'll continue to do that as I decide what the heck I'm doing with this.***

“Lemme just grab my card key,” Clint said, slipping quietly back into the room.

 

He literally dove for the end of the bed where he remembered dropping his key while wrestling Natasha under the garishly-patterned hotel bedspread. One of them must have kicked the flimsy plastic card under the bed frame because he had to crawl under it a little, ass waving around in the air. All he needed was for Phil to come back in here and see him like this.

 

Actually, that sounded like a not so bad idea. He had been told his ass was one of his better features.

 

A throat clearing somewhere above him caused Clint to jerk and knock his head as he was backing out from under it. He peeked sheepishly over the mattress, rubbing the tender spot on his skull.

 

“Ow,” he muttered, scowling up at his best friend and partner.

 

Natasha was sitting up on the bed, wide awake and alert, propped up against the pillows with her ankles crossed, smirk firmly in place.

 

“I decided it was about time you returned the favor for all the nights I’ve had to drag your heavy ass home. You’re welcome, by the way,” she said. After all, if the older man had not helped Clint carry a poor, helpless, unconscious woman up to her room, he was not worth the effort it took to get him there in the first place.

 

Clint smiled a small, pleased smile and looked shyly down at the bedspread. “Thanks, Nat. You know just my type.”

 

Natasha shrugged. “I know you. Thought you might like him better than a new toy.”

 

Clint chuckled, getting to his feet. He knew better than to ask her how she did it. One did not ask a magician the secret to his magic; one just enjoyed the results.

 

Nevertheless, she answered the unuttered. “Desk clerks and bartenders are very bribable.”

 

“Or you’re just that terrifying. How did you know Phil’s favorite drink, anyhow?”

 

Natasha tilted her head as if to say, _Really?_ “Now you’re just being insulting, mishka. Don’t forget about tomorrow,” she gently reminded him as he headed for the door, tucking the key into his jeans pocket.

 

“I won’t,” he whined quietly.

 

“Clint.”

 

Clint peeked around the wall into the bedroom. “Yeah?”

 

Natasha’s smiled softly. “Happy birthday, little bird. Be safe.”

 

Clint grinned that trademark wide, rakish grin. “Aren’t I always?”

 

Natasha’s ugly snort was answer enough as to what she thought about that and it was the last thing Clint heard before he slipped out of the room once more.

 

AVAVAVA

 

Clint had just enough of a glance at Phil— hands in his pockets, eyes glaring down at the hallway carpet— before Phil noticed that Clint had joined him. Phil stood up straight, answering Clint with a confident little barely-there smile. But it was enough for Clint to see that Phil looked unsure— his shoulders not quite completely relaxed, the sexy crows feet pulled just a little too tight around his very blue eyes. Clint was not sure how he knew that about Phil having only just met him a few hours before but then, he had always seen more than most. He had not got his moniker for nothing.

 

 _That’s okay_ , Clint thought. He would go easy on the older man but he was not going to give him up just yet, not after barely a taste of him. He had never much prided himself on his own restraint. He would take as much as the other man was willing to give him even if all Phil ever gave him was a single night, a dance, and a kiss and nothing more. Yes, he needed at least that. It was more than he got from most, anyway. It would be enough. It had to be.

 

“So which room did you say was yours?”

 

AVAVAVA

 

Phil let them into his corner suite and flipped the switch, turning on the lamps on dim.

 

"Nice room," Clint said looking around appreciatively.

 

"I didn’t have anything to do with it, but thank you."

 

A single king in a minimalist four poster took up the focal point of the room and looked straight out the truly expansive double adjacent windows overlooking the beach. An abstract, vaguely marine mural took up the entire wall behind the bed, but other than that, there was not a single, generic, mass-produced artwork to be had. Not that it was necessary. The white curtains were pulled all the way back from the windows giving them a full, unfettered view of the city lights to one side and the Atlantic Ocean on the other. It was almost breathtaking.

 

A pristine white electric fireplace that Clint imagined was more for ambiance than necessity cozied up under a large flat screen in a sitting area with a suede sectional, a lowback chair, and a small table all arranged atop a plush rug.

 

Clint imagined the balcony doors opened to the sounds of the ocean waves below, the fireplace lit just enough to battle the chill of the breeze coming off the water at night, and the two of them in their socks, sitting right on the rug with the remnants of room service scattered about the coffee table.

 

 _You’re doing it again_ , Clint mentally chastised himself. _Always wanting things you can’t have._

 

Suddenly, Phil felt suicidally awkward. He could not fathom how he had arrived at this moment in his life nor where he should go from here. He could not remember the last time he had even thought to bring back a stranger to his hotel room. Probably not since the last time he had been at a hotel for pleasure rather than business. He did not even know the man’s last name, for god's sake. This was not the responsible, professional, put-together Phil I-have-backup-plans-for-my-backup-plans Coulson he had fabricated over the years through hard-won effort. But this man. This gorgeous, adorable, sexy-as-sin man did things to him. And it had been so long, too long since Phil had been so reckless and...human. Couldn’t he just have this? Just for tonight? Couldn’t he pretend that he was not just a robot in a suit but a flesh and blood man who had needs and desires of his own?

 

"Breathe," Clint said with a gentle smile that seemed to let out some of the stifling tension from the room. Phil chuffed, embarrassed. "Aren't you going to offer me a drink?" Clint led with an overly-charming smile as he moved toward the balcony and opened the glass doors.

 

"Oh, uh, of course. I’m sorry," Phil stumbled, pulling open the little fridge at the mini wet bar, surveying the contents. "Let’s see. We have water and...water."

 

"I'll take a water, thanks."

 

God, Phil knew he must seem pathetic, needing to be handled with kid gloves, and Clint was taking it so well, making this so easy for him by taking the lead without making Phil feel as if he was merely surrendering all control. Phil pulled out two water bottles and joined Clint, who unscrewed the cap and downed half of the contents in one swallow, eyes never leaving Phil's face. Gasping, he set the bottle on the balcony ledge and stepped toward Phil, who, for the first time in this whole incident, felt terrified. Clint's hands slid gently over his shoulders in accompaniment to the balmy breeze washing over them, lifting at their hair and clothes, reawakening already-sensitized flesh. Phil gazed out at the white, moon-bleached beach and the black water of the Atlantic a dozen floors below. The sounds of the waves crashing one on top of the other rose up on the wind and settled over them in a soothing, rhythmic rush.

 

"Uh...I...I've never...I mean, I don't usually...."

 

Take strange men to bed? Take any stranger to bed, really? He was not some fresh, experimental twenty-something college student at his first frat party, surrounded by willing flesh. He was older now. Too old to be doing this, if he was honest. He was wrinkled and balding and...and...fuck. He did not trust that easily. The life he had chosen did not much allow it. It was so hard for him to really let go. Audrey had understood that better than most. She tolerated his reserve, his need for secrets, his married-to-the-job mentality that took him away from home, away from family and loved ones for stretches at a time. She was independent with a life and a career of her own. He could have made a life with her. He should have been able to make it work. Men like him did not get too many chances like that.

 

"Me neither," Clint breathed against Phil’s jaw and slipped a hand behind his head, pulling his mouth down to his.

 

Clint paused for a moment just before meeting Phil's lips, giving him a final chance to change his mind. Oh, right. That's what they were supposed to be doing. And just like that, at the first contact of lips to lips, Phil let himself relax and let his instincts take over. Kissing. Now that was something he knew how to do.

 

Clint had great lips, full and soft. He teased and brushed them across Phil's with light pressure, letting him get used to the feeling before he began gently sucking at his mouth, deepening the pressure oh-so-torturously. Clint's lips were cold and wet and slightly sweet from the water, and Phil hummed appreciatively at the flavor. He wondered if Clint always smelled and tasted like this-- warm musk and spice and slightly sweet.

 

Their lips melted and slid together as if their mouths had been waiting all these years for this very moment of coming together. Phil felt helpless to do anything for the moment but react to the skillful play of Clint's lips against his own, focused solely on matching the pleasurable pressure he was receiving from these sweet, hot little kisses that were, Phil thought with no small amount of surprise, sexy as all hell. Then there was a flash of heat as Clint swiped his tongue over Phil's lips that matched a deeper heat slashing its way through his body, and Phil parted them with a gasp, grabbing Clint's hips reflexively. But Clint kept their kisses shallow, sucking Phil’s lips into his mouth and teasing with little flicks of his tongue.

 

In that moment, Phil's whole world shrank down to the single point where Clint's mouth touched him. He felt unusually euphoric. They were kissing as if they had just discovered what two mouths could do when pressed together. Phil groaned and then grunted in frustration, pulling Clint's hips flush against his and grinding their trapped erections together. Clint moaned encouragingly, and Phil felt Clint smiling against his mouth at the invitation to go deeper. But Clint went back to sucking Phil's lips and fluttering the tip of his tongue against Phil's, teasing him, drawing him out. Phil obliged and surrendered his tongue, which Clint sucked between his lips, swirling it with his own, pulling back to suck bruisingly on Phil's mouth and then finally plunged his tongue inside. Phil moaned into Clint’s mouth with appreciation and moved his hands to Clint's ass, holding them tightly together as they rocked and tilted their hips together, echoing their aborted dance from earlier in the night.

 

Clint was a fantastic kisser. Phil could not remember ever being this turned on from just a kiss, which probably spoke more to Phil’s desperation than any lack of experience. Phil felt hot and flushed and he rutted against Clint almost mindlessly, trying to relieve the aching pressure building exquisite and painful below his belt. He could not help but imagine those same lips and tongue working their magic on his cock, a thought which caused a tremor to roll through him. Then Clint was kissing across his jaw and down his neck, decorating his skin with licks and nips of his teeth as he slid Phil's shirt off his shoulders-- when had his shirt been unbuttoned?-- humming in appreciation as his hands greedily explored Phil's torso. Phil grabbed the hem of Clint's shirt and tugged it over his head in one smooth motion.

 

Phil gasped at the first friction of flesh against flesh. _Aw, yeah._ This is what he liked. The sensual slide of one naked body moving against another, the sensation of touch, taste, and scent melding together and enveloping him like a drug. Clint was pressing Phil against the balcony ledge, rubbing his half naked body energetically against his, a leg hitched up around Phil's hips and grinding against him, already trying to ride him standing up and half clothed. Phil could only think to hold the body to him, firm hands roaming frantically up and down his sides and back and into his hair, letting the younger man move against him. God, but the man was well made. Clint felt so strong and solid in his arms. There was a rightness in it that Phil could not begin to explain as Clint's skin seemed to sing beneath his roaming hands, praising his worshipful touch. Phil buried his face in Clint's neck, filling his lungs with that spice-warm scent as if he wanted every breath thereafter to be filtered through that silky flesh.

 

Then Clint dropped his leg and stepped away. He looked flushed and half-ravaged already. His hair was a mess from Phil's hands, and his eyes looked lust-drunk. Phil swayed forward at the sudden broken contact, a disorientated second of freefall without the anchor of the other man's body invading his every sense and crowding out all room for panic. Clint pulled them into the room, quickly working his jeans free and peeling them off. Then he reached for Phil, slipping his fingers under the waist of Phil's pants, drawing him forward, before unzipping them and stripping Phil of his shoes and the last of his clothes.

 

Phil watched him, paralyzed, breathing heavily. They were naked before Phil could even think to protest. Not that he had any mind to, but still, the man would not even let him take a breath. Perhaps Clint sensed Phil's lingering reticence. Well, they could hardly turn back now. Phil was not a quitter. And he did not half-ass anything even if he was half-terrified out of his mind. Clint backed Phil up until the back of his knees hit the bed then pushed once and hard at his shoulders, causing Phil to fall back onto the mattress. Then a gloriously naked Clint was straddling Phil’s hips, and rational thought elbowed its way into Phil's consciousness at last.

 

"Uh...." Phil said grabbing Clint's hips hard to halt their movement before it could really begin. "I...."

 

"What is it?"

 

"I need to tell you something before we...."

 

"Oh, god, are you positive?" Clint asked, sitting back on his heels. He looked stricken. Then he rubbed his hands over Phil's chest as if to comfort, whether himself or Phil, Phil didn't know.

 

"That's okay," Clint soothed. "Penetration might be a little risky, but there's plenty we could do. I'll make you feel real good, I promise."

 

Wait. Huh? Clint's mind was tripping down a path his brain could not follow. "Uh, no. No! It's nothing like that. I don't have HIV. Or any other STI's, if that's your next question."

 

"Oh. Thank god. Me neither. I mean, I've been with positive men before, but I mean, I’m always safe. Get tested like clockwork.” Clint exhaled. "What is it then?"

 

"Um…," said Phil, eloquently, as he gazed up at the ceiling hoping to decipher his thoughts from the seemingly abstract patterns. God, how embarrassing. How did he say this?

 

"This isn't when you tell me you have a boyfriend, is it?" Phil shook his head, trying to conjure the right words. "A girlfriend?"

 

"No...not exactly…."

 

"Oh my god, you're married!"

 

"What? No! I'm not married, for heaven's sake. I'm not in any kind of relationship. Just...Jesus...gimme a second to form a thought here,” Phil groused, scrubbing a hand over his face.

 

"Oh." Clint deflated. "Sorry."

 

But he continued caressing Phil's chest, also rather unhelpful to Phil's concentration. Between Clint's naked thighs and moving hands and his cock, screaming for attention, Phil could hardly breathe let alone think.

 

"I just...God. I just haven't...."

 

"Have you done this before?" Clint asked with a humiliatingly sympathetic tone.

 

"Yes, Clint, I've had sex before," Phil grumbled. "I'm a healthy, forty-something year old man." Which made Clint huff out a laugh. "I just haven't done this in a long time. Like, a really long time," Phil admitted, feeling thoroughly mortified. "And I...." Hell, Phil felt like a goddamn virgin-- nervous, excited, terrified, uncertain of what to do.

 

"It's been a while for me, too." Clint offered. "It's okay. We'll go slow. Just let me please you for a little while. You can stop whenever you feel uncomfortable."

 

Christ. Phil was completely disappointed in himself at the relief he felt at hearing Clint's reassuring words. But they worked, and Phil let himself be pressed all the way down into the mattress as he finally allowed himself to appreciate the breathtaking sight above him.

 

Clint was a beautiful, beautiful man in a way that Phil struggled to explain. Clint was a little on the rough side and though Phil may have seen more sculpted bodies, he was fit and lithe and strong. His hands-- sinewy and unusually calloused-- spoke of dedication and hard work, and he seemed to take care of himself. The man had no tan lines, for Christ’s sake. Just one long, unbroken stretch of golden skin from head to toe. But he was not flawless by any means. Not that Phil was looking for that, anyway. Phil himself was not the most gorgeous man to walk the earth. Not by a long shot. He knew that. But there was something about this man that entranced Phil-- his hair messy and falling across his forehead, face flushed, mood-stone eyes growing molten, a pleased smile playing over his lips as he sat astride the older man, completely, delectably, unabashedly naked, allowing Phil to look his fill as he explored Phil's body with his own hands, offering himself up like a present for Phil to open and take for himself, for his own pleasure. How could Phil say no to that? He was only a man, after all.

 

And the way Clint rolled his hips, rubbing his hard cock across Phil's bare abs, was just...fucking sinful. The way that Clint looked at him made him feel utterly exposed and deliciously dirty. It was the kind of look that would have a weaker-- or perhaps braver-- man begging and crawling over flaming, glass-embedded gravel if that's what it took. Clint began kissing down Phil’s chest, lapping and biting at his nipples, causing Phil to jerk and hiss at his torturously sensitive flesh.

 

Aw, who was he kidding. He was a weak, weak man.

 

Clint kissed and licked down Phil’s abs, pausing to press his face into the flesh of his lower belly and take a breath, exhaling with a pleasured hum. Phil almost smiled at the way Clint seemed lost in this little journey of his flesh he was taking.

 

"I love your body," Clint said reverently quiet, almost as if he was speaking to himself. "I love your sexy fucking freckles, Phil. And I love this dark hair," he said louder, bolder. "All over your chest and down your abs. Mm," he hummed, touching the places he described. "It's not too coarse or too long or too thick. It's perfect. God, I could eat you." He nipped across Phil's belly then as if he just could not help himself. "You feel strong everywhere, like you don't even try."

 

Phil laughed at that. "Oh, I try."

 

"I mean, I knew you would look good under that suit, but this. You look like you could take me, force me, hold me down. I like it. And your cock...," Clint finished the sentence with a little thrust of his hips.

 

 _Motherfucking god._ Phil had never had quite this reaction from someone before. It amplified his own lust and made him feel powerful in his own sexuality.

 

Clint moved to the sensitized skin at the hollow of Phil’s hips, massaging and licking, caressing and kissing, causing Phil to gasp and jerk his hips off the bed. God, he was so sensitive there. Why is it more people did not think to make love to men there? He would be a trembling, cursing mess in no time if Clint kept that up. But then Clint lifted his head and met Phil's eyes as he wrapped both hands around Phil’s shaft and took a few leisurely pumps.

 

_Oh, thank god. Finally._

 

"God, look at this. Fat and juicy. Makes my mouth water." Phil choked out a surprised laugh. Clint had a dirty mouth on him. But Phil quickly decided he liked that, or his cock decided for him, as it pulsed a couple of times in Clint's grip. "Oh, you like that?" Clint teased with a dirty little grin, like his mouth was made for it.

 

"Yeah," Phil said with roughened voice. "Keep talking." Clint lowered his head and licked off the fat, succulent bead of pre-come gathering at the tip of his engorged cock. "Oh, sweet jesus," Phil gasped.

 

"Mm, you taste so good." Phil grunted and thrust upward. "But I don't see how I can talk and swallow this gorgeous cock at the same time."

 

Phil bucked his hips up again at the promise of those beautiful lips wrapped around him. Clint swirled his tongue around the swollen, plumb, mushroom head, letting his lips slide over just the tip and then back up, in a light, lubricating kiss without any suction. It was torturous, and Phil fought the impulse to grab Clint's head and force him down on his shaft. Women did not seem to like that very much. He doubted a man would like being suddenly force-fed and choked on a dick any better.

 

"Oh, god. _Please_ ," Phil pleaded, hips making little, involuntary undulations.

 

"Say it," Clint demanded, hot eyes burning holes straight through him.

 

Phil gripped Clint’s hair in his fist and growled, reaching his other hand down to grab his cock and slap it against Clint’s lips. "Suck it."

 

Clint smiled victoriously and then-- _finally ohmylordthankyouthankyouthankyou_ \-- he took Phil's aching cock in his mouth, sucking long and deep, working his way steadily down his entire length. Phil felt the long, loud moan rise up from his lower belly and up out of his throat. _Holy mama, what a mouth!_ The man knew his way around a cock, that was for damn sure. Clint fluttered and swirled his tongue under and around the shaft, quickly filling up his mouth, sucking fiercely and wetly, fucking his own face down on Phil’s dick until he made little cut-off choking sounds as he forced the tip of Phil’s cock into the back of his throat.

 

 _So fucking hot_ , Phil thought. He was transfixed by the sight of his cock disappearing between those sinful lips, those hollowed cheeks, eyes closed in their own devoted pleasure as he bobbed up and down. Clint ran his hands greedily over all the skin he could reach-- up his abs to his chest, massaging across his hips and groping his thighs, cupping his balls with surprisingly tender, agile fingers.

 

Phil felt the head of his cock at the back of Clint's throat as it swallowed and worked around his cockhead. Phil keened, throwing his head back, grabbing fistfuls of Clint's disheveled, golden hair, reeling in the urgent need to just fuck mercilessly into that hot, wet mouth. Phil tightened his grip, inciting a whimper out of the blond man.

 

_Oh, shit._

 

Phil released trembling hands, but Clint grabbed Phil by his wrists and guided the fingers back to his head. _Oh, he liked that._ Phil fisted those soft honeyed waves again, tugging a little. And this time, Clint moaned wantonly, urging him on. _Oh, fuck._ That was one of the most erotic things Phil had ever seen in his life. He thrust up reflexively, forcing another moan out of Clint as he clutched at his inner thighs. Does he want him to...? He thrust again and felt Clint shift his hips down and rub his cock against the leg he was straddling, leaving a wet trail of the pre-come that was leaking out of Clint's neglected cock. _Oh, dear god._ Phil began cautiously thrusting in and out of Clint's mouth, fucking his face.

 

_Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod._

 

Phil had never seen someone so turned on about sucking his cock. It was all too much. Phil's legs started to shake, his breath coming in heaving gasps. He felt light-headed and on the verge of hyperventilating and even closer to blowing his load. It had only been a few minutes, and Phil could not bear the thought of humiliating himself by coming like some high school virgin receiving his first blowjob. His hands scrambled desperately for Clint's shoulders, eventually finding purchase, and pushed Clint's mouth off his pulse-pounding erection. Phil fell back against the mattress, trying to catch his breath.

 

Clint lifted his head with a gasp. "Something wrong?" He was breathing heavily, voice raw. His lips were wet with spit and pre-come, his hair had that just-fucked look, and, in that moment, Phil was sure he had never wanted anyone more.

 

"God, no. I'm just close already," Phil admitted breathily, an arm thrown over his eyes in slight embarrassment.

 

"Oh," Clint's mouth stretched into a wicked, self-satisfied grin. "You're so big," he said, petting Phil's thighs. "I can just imagine this monster forcing the breath out of me as it's buried balls-deep in my ass.

 

 _Oh my god, that mouth._ “You're gonna make me come talking like that."

 

"Well, now you know how to shut me up."

 

"Maybe I don't want you to shut up," Phil countered, pulling Clint up by his hands up his body, using his own to pet and help settle the length of Clint's body over his own.

 

"Is that so? Why don't you tell me what you do want then."

 

Clint's eyes seemed to alight at this game they were playing, and Phil had rarely felt so sexually emboldened before. Maybe it was Clint's shameless hussy routine or the patient way he tried to take care of Phil and make him feel comfortable, but Phil felt some hidden kinky side awakening inside of him, and he felt eager to explore it. He rubbed a thumb absently over Clint's red, swollen mouth, which Clint sucked between his lips, nipping at the pad before swirling his tongue around it. Phil grunted in renewed arousal.

 

"Tell me what _you_ want."

 

"I wanna have you," Clint answered honestly and then blushed lightly at his own cheesy frankness. He buried his face against Phil's chest and let out a self-deprecating laugh.

 

_Well, that’s kind of adorable._

 

Phil pet the golden mop of Clint's head and snorted. "I think lying naked under someone you're about to fuck is about as ‘had’ as a person can get," Phil chuckled. Clint slapped his chest and then kissed the sting away. "No, tell me. What is the one thing that a man can do to you in bed that drives you out-of-your-mind insane?"

 

Clint shivered at the deep rumble of Phil's request against his ear. He felt a sudden, inexplicable bought of shyness. He knew his way around a cock. He was confident in his ability to please a man. And watching a man go to pieces under him always made him feel powerful and in control. Maybe it was just easier that way. If he was always the one calling the shots then when things got a little too real, he could tell himself he wanted it that way. He had always been a good liar. To himself, most of all.

 

But letting go was another thing entirely, and the thought of surrendering to another man sometimes made Clint cringe inside. It was an ongoing internal battle for him to give up control. It required the kind of trust that could not just be handed over to a prospective new lover let alone a stranger in an anonymous hotel room. Usually, Clint would quickly wrestle back control with a slip of the tongue or a roll of his hips, and most men were willing enough to be easily distracted by his skillful ministrations. But sometimes, he was forced to breathe through his momentary panic and force the feelings of being smothered and his own repulsion to personal vulnerability deep down into his gut. He had not always been this way. But Clint had learned a long time ago that if you did not protect yourself, more than likely, no one else would either.

 

Clint traced a fingertip over Phil's chest, circling around a nipple as he seemed to consider his answer. Without lifting his face from Phil's chest, he finally said, "I like to have my ass rimmed."

 

And it was true. The rare man who knew how to really work his ass could turn him into a quivering puddle of need in mere minutes. Plus, he knew the words would be a challenge to this enigmatic man. Some men did not care for the taste of ass. There had been plenty who flat out refused to perform the act on him, and Clint could not help but admit that he was curious to see if the man would rise to the challenge. If Phil said no, then he could easily convince the man to do what he wanted him to do to make up for his lack of follow through. If Phil said yes, well, he had suffered through worse than a bad rim job and he could play the man's seeming inexperience to his favor, as he had been doing all night.

 

Phil smirked. "Yeah?"

 

"Yeah," Clint echoed, meeting Phil's eyes.

 

"Okay then."

 

Now that, Phil was pretty sure he could do. And if that's what Clint wanted then, by god, he was going to give the man what he wanted. More than anything, right then, Phil just wanted to make Clint feel as good as he had felt. He rubbed his hands over Clint's arms and shoulders, gripping them gently and rolling Clint off of him and onto the mattress.

 

"Mm, my turn," Phil growled into his ear, and Clint smirked at the eagerness in Phil's voice.

 

Phil's heart sped up and heat pooled in his stomach at the realization of what he was about to do. He had been dying to get any part of himself on that ass since he had first seen it filling out those vintage jeans. It had been a long time since someone had actually asked him to do this, and there was just something about Clint that gave him that little bit of confidence he needed, that gave him the desire to do anything the man asked for that would please him. The sight of the naked body spread out before Phil interrupted his thoughts as instinct took over. His body knew what to do; he just needed to not let his head get in the way. He could do that. He could create that headspace of personal detachment if he had to.

 

Phil guided Clint over onto his stomach, letting his hands roam-- rubbing, petting, soothing, causing the other man to tremble slightly under his hands. God, but he was sweet. Golden skin everywhere, stretched over a thick musculature. He bent over Clint's trembling body and followed a similar path with his mouth, adding teeth and tongue as he grew bolder.

 

"Oh, Jesus," Clint gasped into the pillow he grabbed and clutched against his mouth and chest, as if needing an anchor to keep him from being swept away in compete abandonment. He had not realized just how touched starved he was until that moment. He and Natasha had cuddled up in bed more times than he could count. He had fallen asleep numerous times to the feeling of her fingers in his hair. But it just was not the same as the feeling of a man on top of him, giving him just what he needed, touching and kissing him until was weak with want.

 

"You okay?"

 

"Y-yeah," came the breathy, stuttering reply. "Don't stop."

 

Phil moved down Clint's back and smoothed his hands over Clint's ass, palming it, kneading it, watching the way the plump globes of flesh and muscle filled up his hands. The golden skin was dusted with fine gold hair, and Phil's cock leapt at the sight and feel of it under his hands. He wanted to slap that ass hard and take a bite out of it. So he did.

 

He landed a loud smack across one cheek, watching the white handprint appear and turn pink and then bit down hard, causing Clint to yelp and jerk in surprise. But Clint did not say a word or move to stop him. Phil laughed huskily. He massaged his ass more and then slowly spread the cheeks apart, revealing the pink little hole. _Ngh_. It looked so perfect. All smooth skin between his cheeks. He was practically salivating. He could not remember how long it had been since he had had a gorgeous ass open and willing before him. He bent his head and took an experimental swipe of his tongue up the length of Clint's crease, at which Clint gasped loudly and bit down into the pillow. Phil smacked his lips.

 

"That okay?"

 

Clint could only whimper once and nod, looking over his shoulder with hazy, heavy-lidded eyes as Phil leaned down again, taking a deeper lick, compelling another gasp and shudder.

 

"Oh, yesssss," Clint encouraged.

 

"Is this what you want?" Clint nodded and lifted his hips. "Tell me."

 

"Eat me," Clint demanded with a roll of his hips and grabbed the back of Phil's head, urging the older man’s face against his ass. Phil let his face to be buried between Clint's glorious ass cheeks and moaned, bowled over with want for this man.

 

"I love your ass," Phil breathed heavily, voice sounding thick and raw. He pulled Clint up to his knees and pushed Clint's legs further apart and settled himself between his calves, spreading his ass wide. "Mm, yeah," Phil said to himself. He fluttered the tip of his tongue against Clint's hole.

 

"Oh, fuck," Clint gasped, causing Phil's stiff cock to leap against his abs. He was back to danger mode once more, already leaking pre-come in anticipation.

 

Phil began to press harder with his tongue, circling the fluttering hole, drawing abstract patterns over the puckered flesh, coaxing it to relax and open to him. He moved two fingertips toward the furled entrance, massaging it, pulling it open little by little, before attacking it with his tongue once more. Clint was quickly losing his mind beneath Phil's mouth, moaning and pressing his ass up into Phil's face. Phil began working his tongue inside him.

 

"Oh my god! Oh jesus fucking christ!"

 

"I love the way you respond to me. I love that I'm doing that to you." It seemed that Clint was also awakening Phil's own dirty talking side.

 

Clint heaved a sob into the pillow as Phil pressed his entire tongue inside Clint's ass, moving it around in circles, and then-- slowly and thoroughly-- he began tongue fucking him.

 

"Oh. My. Fucking. God!" Clint practically shouted. "Your tongue is amazing!"

 

Phil drew back to spit on his hole and work it around with his tongue, slicking him up. Phil was working himself up into his own frenzy, taking little nips at Clint's ass with his teeth, lightly scraping his teeth over Clint’s entrance, and laying tender kisses right on the glistening hole, before burying his face between his cheeks and plunging his tongue back inside, huffing muffled moans against his ass.

 

"Ahh!" Clint cried out and shifted his hips away from Phil's face.

 

"Too much?"

 

"Your stubble."

 

"Oh, I'm sorry. I can go shave...," Phil offered, scrubbing a hand against his slightly roughened jaw.

 

"No!" Clint stopped him. "I like it. It just makes my ass feel even more sensitive. If I try to buck you off, just hold me down," he said with a wicked grin.

 

Phil groaned, wounded. "You really are just a shameless slut," he said smacking Clint’s thick, bubble ass.

 

"You love it. Ahh!" Clint gasped as Phil grabbed his hips in a tight grip and plunged his tongue back inside with renewed vigor.

 

Phil's hips began to rut mindlessly against the sheets. He drew back a little, kissing and then sucking right on his hole before slipping a finger inside and licking around the finger as it worked in and out of Clint's soft, velvety insides. Phil was trembling, he was so turned on by Clint’s verbal responses combined with the loud, wet sounds of his mouth and tongue working against Clint’s ass.

 

"Fffffuuuck," Clint breathed, throat clicking drily. "That feels so fucking good, I can't take it. You're driving me crazy."

 

"Yeah, you really need this don't you," Phil observed, adding a second finger, seeking out Clint's prostate.

 

Yeah, he could do this, too. It was just like working himself open. Only so much better. Clint's responsiveness allowed Phil to grow more confident in his ability to return this man’s pleasure. Clint was so generous with his body, it was humbling. Phil massaged in circles over the tight bundle of nerves, and Clint moaned and rocked his hips back and forth, trying to fuck himself on Phil's fingers.

 

It felt so good to be inside of him. So hot and wet and welcoming. Phil wanted to crawl inside of the younger man, slide every part of himself in every part of this man. What had sex even felt like before this? He struggled to remember.

 

"Clint, you look so good trying to fuck yourself on my hand."

 

Phil wanted to put his fist inside him. His entire arm. Watch the blond sobbing trying to take it all and begging for more. Phil wrapped his other hand around Clint's cock and began to stroke it, changing the rhythm of his fingers to a rapid tapping against the nerves, causing Clint to practically scream and then pull off his hand and flip over.

 

"Did I hurt you?" Phil asked, panic rising in his throat.

 

"Hell no! Holy motherfucking god, Phil! If you don't fuck me right now, I'll kill you and then ride your dick anyway." He reached over the side of the bed, rummaging through his pants pockets and pulled out a small tube of lube and a handful of condoms and shoved them into Phil's hand.

 

"Uh, okaaay." But Phil was smiling ferociously now. They watched each other with hot roaming eyes as Phil slipped a condom over his cock and slicked himself with the lube. Then Clint rolled over again on his hands and knees. "You want it like that?"

 

"Yeah," Clint said, meeting Phil's eyes over his shoulder. "Fuck me."

 

The space between them was electric, vibrating with anticipation.

 

Phil swiped some lube across Clint's crease as he knelt behind him and lined up the head of his cock with Clint's hole, heart hammering, blood a loud roar in his ears. Phil knew that Clint could feel the trembling of his hand grasping his hip. Whether more from nerves or unsated desire, he could not say. He pressed forward. Clint and Phil released loud, dual moans as the head of Phil's cock slipped past the first ring of muscle.

 

"Jesus Christ, you feel good," Phil said through gritted teeth, barely reining in control.

 

"Goddamn, you're thick,” Clint huffed out, breath labored as he endured the stretch. “Keep pushing. Don't stop until you're buried deep."

 

Phil continued the long, torturously slow side before pausing, breathless, as he bottomed out in Clint's ass. He took a few deep breaths, resisting the urge to thrust before Clint was ready.

 

"You okay?" Phil asked softly, petting Clint's flanks.

 

"Yeah," Clint gasped. "Ngh! I feel so full. It's intense but it's good." He pushed his ass back against Phil. "Move," he ordered.

 

Phil began to move, sliding almost all the way out and then all the way back in to the hilt in long, smooth strokes. Clint was making sweet little gasping noises and hums all the while.

 

"More," Clint demanded, pressing back into him. Phil picked up the pace, keeping up the long, smooth strokes, ending with a forceful thrust as he bottomed out. "Uh!" Clint grunted with each little thrust. "Yeah yeah. That's it. That's it."

 

"God, I wish you could see what I'm seeing. Your hot, little hole looking so stretched around my dick. It's a thing of beauty." Phil's sexy talk made Clint moan and rock back against Phil with more force. "Oh, yeah. Fuck yourself on it. Let me see it."

 

Phil could not believe what he was saying, but the more the words seemed to spur Clint on, the more plentiful and filthy the words kept pouring out. Clint was slamming his ass back hard on Phil's cock as Phil's hands held Clint's hips in a bruising grip. Clint was panting and moaning loudly with his efforts, head thrown back, mouth fallen open, and eyes closed in concentrated pleasure. Phil could not resist the compulsion to continue his thrusting into Clint's ass, meeting Clint's rhythm with his own breath-stealing thrusts, urging Clint to pick up the pace.

 

"Oh oh oh! Oh god, Phil! Fuck me harder!" Clint shouted, ever louder until Phil was setting a brutal pace, jackhammering mercilessly into Clint's ass and Clint could no longer hold himself up with his trembling arms. His upper body collapsed against the mattress, and he bit and fisted the sheets, holding on for dear life as Phil slammed into him.

 

They were both sweat-slick with their efforts, and the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh echoed sharply off the walls. Phil listened for the changing breath and sounds that told him just what Clint liked best, what made him moan and writhe, what left him breathless and shaking. He was the most responsive lover Phil had ever taken to bed, and it made him feel like a fucking god.

 

"Oh, right there! Oh, god! Phil! Oh, don't stop! Don't you dare fucking stop!" Clint sobbed as Phil milked his prostate with the punishing pistoning of his hips, and Clint seemed to push beyond into another plane of existence, as his speech was transformed into a continuous litany of mindless, curse-filled prayers.

 

"Ahhhhfffuuuuuck! Oh...oh...OHHohhohh...myGOD! Ohhh, sweet mother of mercy! OH, heavenly jesUS! Oh shhiiit! Ahhhhhhh...!" Clint was blasphemous, shameless. And so goddamn sexy, Phil could not help but practically shout out as he fucked the blond harder, grunting with his efforts.

 

Every muscle in Clint's body looked taut and braced against Phil's pounding, and his mantra dissolved into one long, keening scream as his cock started pulsing hard against his abs, cum spurting onto the sheets beneath him with the barest touch of a hand to himself. As Clint's ass spasmed around Phil's cock, Phil groaned loudly, sounding mortally wounded. He gathered the younger man closer to him and leaned over Clint’s sweaty back, biting down on the back of the blond’s golden shoulder, and thrust several more times before slamming in deep and emptying himself into the condom.

 

Clint collapsed face-down onto the bed as Phil pulled out of him and fell onto his back next to him. They were both soaked and gasping for breath. Phil disposed of the condom in the wastebasket next to the bed.

 

That was...god, Clint did not know what that was, but it had been amazing! He could not remember the last time he had been fucked so well. He had barely touched himself before he came so hard he could have sworn he could almost see the face of God. It almost pissed Clint off a little. Who did this smug asshole think he was?

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Phil could see that Clint was quietly staring head-on at his profile now. The moment began to stretch and make him feel twitchy and uncomfortable. When he turned his face toward Clint, he caught only a glimpse of Clint’s curious, inexplicable expression before the man seemed to retreat into his own head and turn away, not wanting to be caught thinking...well, whatever it was he had been thinking.

 

If he had a mirror in front of his own face, Phil imagined it would show a thoroughly surprised, thoroughly fucked man staring back at him. And maybe, too, there would be an edge of burgeoning, confused panic forming at the corners of his eyes, thinning his lips. He ran his hands through his thinning hair, staring at the fine abstract shapes of the ceiling plaster, trying to pull himself back together.

 

"Happy birthday to me," Clint sighed, voice raw.

 

Phil laughed, abs twinging. "When is your birthday exactly?" he asked, gratefully taking up the meager bait.

 

"What time is it?"

 

"Um...," Phil lifted one heavy, clumsy arm to look at his watch. "It's almost two."

 

"Just missed it by a couple hours then."

 

"It was your birthday tonight?" Then he realized, "I was your birthday sex?"

 

Clint chuckled. "I didn't exactly plan it that way but I don't think I could have asked for better." Damn him.

 

Clint's confession made Phil feel fluttery inside. "I’m flattered.”

 

Clint laughed ruefully. "I should be thanking you. That was much better than an overpriced cocktail."

 

"I never did buy you that drink, did I?"

 

"I think you more than made up for it. I'm going to be deliciously sore and limping tomorrow."

 

Oh, yeah. Tomorrow. Reality. There was a time and life outside of this bed and this hotel room. Suddenly seized by an awkward silence, they lay there for a few long moments, not touching, sharing an interest in the ceiling plaster, both acutely aware of the other's presence.

 

"I don't really...."

 

"I should probably...." They started speaking at the same moment.

 

"Go ahead," Clint said.

 

"Uh...I was going to say that, uh...," Phil cleared his throat, rubbing a hand over his eyes, searching for the words. "I mean, I don't usually...or rather, I haven't really ever done this before," Phil finished in a low voice.

 

"You've never brought a random guy back to your hotel room?"

 

"Yeah. I mean, no. I haven't. Ever done that."

 

"I see." Clint rolled off the bed and walked naked into the bathroom, returning with a damp washcloth and handing it to Phil. "This isn't exactly my area of expertise, either,” Clint lied. He was, in fact, an old pro. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, after all. Not that Phil had made him feel anything less than spoiled. Until now. “But I think we're okay making our own rules. I can go if you want, and you look like you need the sleep. But I'd like to use your shower first, if you don't mind."

 

He just wanted a little longer. Just a little bit longer. Was that so bad? Just a moment to pretend that he could ever have more than this? Ever be more than a notch on someone’s bedpost? Ever wake up in someone’s arms instead of being unceremoniously ejected after the last orgasm to make the grungy walk of shame home in rumpled clothes? Couldn’t he just pretend, just for a moment, that someone as gentle and sexy and classy as Phil could want him for keeps?

 

Not that Clint would ever show it. He would be damned if he ever let it be known that it got to him, that it was even possible for anyone to make Clint Barton feel inferior to anyone. Even if it was true.

 

"Of course. Go ahead," Phil replied. It was the least he could, after all, before kicking the man out of his bed after the best sex of his life.

 

Clint walked into the bathroom and stopped just inside the doorway. The wall-of-windows theme carried into the bathroom, it seemed, with a massive tub nestled underneath a view of the Miami skyline. It was big enough for two, Clint observed. Maybe.... _There you go again. Wanting things you can't have. Be realistic, Barton. You don't get to have these things. They're not for people like you._

 

Clint bypassed the inviting tub and wrenched open the shower door.

 

Phil listened to the sounds of water echoing off the bathroom tile, wondering what in the hell he was supposed to do now. His mind was going in so many different directions, he felt discombobulated. He did not know what to freak out about first. That he had just slept with someone and that, for nearly the first time in almost a decade, that person was not Audrey? That that person was, in fact, a total fucking stranger? That that total fucking stranger was a man? That he had just had some of the best sex of his life with a strange man and he had enjoyed every glorious second of it?

 

It took only minutes for Clint to emerge from the bathroom on a cloud of steam, a fluffy, white towel around his waist.

 

"I used your mouthwash. I hope you don't mind." Phil shook his head.

 

Clint was dripping wet; his hair was sticking up all over the place. Phil decided he looked good like that, all heat-flushed and glistening from a hot shower. Phil watched Clint gather his clothes off the floor and shake them out, arranging them over the chair. Phil wanted to run his hands all over that slick skin, all those curves and shapes and carves of muscle and flesh highlighted by the play of lamplight on water. He imagined the younger man would still be warm from the shower. He wanted to know what his soap smelled like on the man’s skin. He wanted....

 

"You don't have to go."

 

Clint's mouth turned out a small smile, heart rate picking up. "Do you want me to stay?"

 

He had no idea how to answer that. Phil was pretty sure he was on the verge of having a complete freak out of some kind and he would rather not have a witness to his embarrassment. And a part-- a very large part--of him wanted this man out of his bed, his room, his life, and even his memory forever because he just could not deal with imagining any other possibilities right now. But the thought of Clint leaving him to lie alone in that bed, knowing he was sleeping somewhere down the hall, filled him with a sudden anguished, overwhelming sense of loneliness. Yep, he was pretty messed up right about now.

 

"I...yeah. Please stay."

 

Clint paused, considering or gauging the sincerity of the invitation for a sleepover, Phil was not sure. But it was only a moment before Clint said, "Okay." Just like that. "O-kay," like he was deciding between subs or tacos for lunch. All nonchalant. No inner personal crisis for him. Or at least, he did not show it.

 

"There's plenty of hot water if you want," Clint prompted.

 

"Okay, thanks." Phil practically ran to the bathroom to continue to mentally tie himself up in knots in private.

 

Phil tried to stall what he imagined would be a humiliatingly awkward tuck-in. He took his time lathering, scrubbing, and rinsing. And then did it all over again. Maybe he should have just asked Clint to leave. He brushed, flossed, and gargled. But now that he had already said Clint could stay, he could not really renege on the invitation, could he? At least, not without coming off as a total spaz. He put on underwear, deciding if he should put on pajamas but then realized that Clint would most likely just be in his underwear, and he did not want to be overdressed. Of course, maybe Clint would be more comfortable wearing pajamas but did not have the choice because he was away from his room. Maybe he should offer some of his pajamas for Clint to sleep in or.... And he was thinking way too much about this.

 

When Phil finally stepped out of the bathroom wearing only black boxer briefs, only fifteen minutes had passed. Clint was sitting up in the bed under the covers, watching an old movie on cable. Phil felt excruciatingly self-conscious as he closed the balcony doors and walked slowly to the other side of the bed.

 

"Whatcha watching?"

 

"His Girl Friday. It's a 1940's movie with Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell. Grant plays a newspaper editor who’s trying to use a front page story about an escaped convict to keep his reporter ex-wife, Russell, from remarrying because he's still in love with her."

 

"Yeah, I know it," Phil said, slipping between the covers. "It's one of my favorites.

 

"Mine too! I love the rapid-fire dialogue between the leads, especially that line that Hildy says, that Walter is 'wonderful in a loathsome sort of way.' I think it sums up so much about their relationship." Phil found himself smiling stupidly at the blond man. He looked like a little kid, eyes all shiny, as he talked enthusiastically about something he liked. Phil decided he wanted to keep him like that; it was distracting him from his own meltdown.

 

"Did you know that the leads were originally written for two men?" Phil baited.

 

"Really? I can't imagine the film having the same spark without Russell."

 

"The film was adapted from the play, Front Page. And the story goes that, after seeing the play on stage, Howard Hawkes, the film's director, brought a manuscript of the play to a dinner party he was throwing. He and one of his female guests read out a scene from the play together, and Hawkes liked the idea of the role of Hildy performed by a woman so much, that he immediately went out and secured the rights to the film and had the part rewritten."

 

"I like that story," Clint decided, readjusting the covers over them. "So, is this a fluke or are you a true fan of classic cinema?"

 

Phil repositioned his pillows behind his back, getting more comfortable. "It's all my mother's fault. When I was a kid, whenever I was sick, she'd make up a bed on the couch and we'd watch old black and white movies all day. I would eat homemade chicken soup while she ironed the laundry and recounted movie trivia. By the time I graduated high school, I'd probably seen every film Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn had ever made. Even now, when I'm feeling nostalgic for my childhood and I'm missing her, I'll put in a classic like this one and watch it until I fall asleep."

 

Phil had no idea why he felt the need to tell Clint that story but he could not bring himself to regret it, especially not when Clint was smiling so sweetly at him, looking completely charmed.

 

"I like that story even more," Clint smiled. "My mom adored Katherine Hepburn and Judy Holliday. She made me watch Adam's Rib and Born Yesterday with her at least two dozen times. She used to say women like Katherine Hepburn and Rosalind Russell helped pave the way for the women's movement because they proved that women are every bit as intelligent, ambitious, and career-oriented as men.”

 

She just was not strong enough or smart enough to leave, he thought uncharitably. Not before his pathetic, drunk old man had beaten everything bright and wonderful right out of her. He knew it wasn't her fault. But that old childhood anger and bitterness was hard to shake.

 

"Your mom sounds like quite a character."

 

“She was.”

 

Clint turned to fiddle with the off switch on the lamp so he would not have to look at the pitying look that inevitably followed the news of his dead mother. A quiet, "I'm sorry," was all Phil supplied.

 

"It's been a long time," Clint shrugged, resettling himself on the pillows and using the remote to adjust the volume.

 

He arranged and rearranged the pillows under his head, trying to get comfortable, and Phil had a sudden heart-stopping lurch when it reminded him of Audrey doing the same thing when they used to watch movies in bed. It had always driven him crazy when she flopped all over, jostling him and the entire bed, pounding loudly on the pillows. Only one thing ever seemed to settle her down....

 

Phil opened his right arm to Clint, who paused, looking adorably confused, then wholly surprised. Then he smiled shyly and slid over to Phil, laying his head tentatively on his shoulder.

 

"This okay?" Clint asked quietly. He felt stiff and uncertain against Phil's side, but Phil closed his arm around him, tugging him a bit closer to get them both comfortable, and slowly rubbed up and down Clint's bare arm. After a few minutes, Clint sighed and relaxed into the embrace.

 

Phil had no idea what possessed him to do such a thing. Here he was, acting out some kind of intimate domestic scene with a strange man he had picked up from a bar just a few hours ago. It all felt so surreal and yet so...natural. So comfortable. And how he could feel comfortable in the arms of a man he had just met was something he was not going to let himself ruminate over for the time being. So, with forced focus, he watched Walter and Hildy's banter-as-foreplay, feeling the other man breathe against him, listening to him laugh at his favorite parts, until his anxiety ebbed.

 

He did not remember when they both fell asleep before the credits rolled.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, okay. So that was that. I was going to leave it here, but it feels a little unfinished, doesn’t it? I may have another couple of parts lying around in shambles. After all, I kinda want to know what everyone else is doing, don’t you? And what about that Natasha stuff in the tags? I didn’t even get to that outside my own head. I’ll post them eventually. After that, I’m not sure. There’s certainly the potential for more. I should have thought this through more, to be completely honest.


	3. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This update is relatively brief but I figure it’s better than nothing, right? I’m still working this whole thing out, and that will most likely be perpetual. You’ve been warned. But I’ve got ideas, y’all! Half-assed, cracky ideas but ideas nonetheless. Without further ado, please enjoy some more smut with a smidge of yet more fluff and angst (flangst?) and Sober Phil with my compliments.

A warm hand slid down his back. A mouth pressed kisses to the back of his neck. Phil hummed softly as the gentle touches pulled him to consciousness. _Mm. Audrey._ It had been a long time since he had had a wake-up call like this. He felt boneless and languid in a way that only happened when he slept hard and deep. He rolled over onto his back with a groan. God, he hoped it was not yet time to get up. He could lie like this for hours more.

 

Audrey moved into the curve of his side, kissing his neck and down his chest, sucking a nipple into her mouth. He hissed as her teeth tugged gently at the sensitive bit of flesh, sending a zing of pleasure straight to his cock. She usually did not play with his nipples, but Phil decided he was going to start requesting that more. A hand skimmed down over his belly and slipped beneath his boxers, lightly stroking him to full hardness.

 

"Feels good," Phil breathed, pressing his nose into her hair while she nuzzled against him. _What’s that smell, lemongrass mint?_ Must be a new shampoo. He liked it. He tangled his fingers into her hair, encouraging the sucking, wet kisses she pressed against his throat. _So soft. When did she get a haircut? Why was she always changing her hair?_ He felt something scratching lightly at the tender skin of his neck and against his collar bone. _Someone needs a shave._

 

_Wait...._

 

Phil struggled to open his eyes. He squinted, waiting for his sleepy eyes to adjust to the harsh morning light. Soft lips moved down his chest. That's right. He had been at a club last night. A gay club. A hot tongue trailed over his abs. Drop dead gorgeous smile. Arms that made his knees weak. Drunk woman in an elevator. And then…. _Oh, god._

 

"Clint."

 

Clint hummed in reply to the deep, sleep-roughened sound of his name on Phil’s lips.

 

Sneaky, searching fingers slid underneath the waistband of Phil’s boxers and yanked them down to his thighs. A clever tongue licked a long stripe up the length of him, ending with a single, delicious suck to his cock. Phil almost whimpered when the mouth pulled away, but then Clint was straddling his legs. The delightfully nude blond undulated his serpentine hips, sliding his satin-skinned cock across Phil’s own hardness. Phil groaned and bucked against him.

 

Clint looked different in the morning light. More real and in focus as if someone had stripped the room and everything in it of its cinematic veil, refocusing everything into near-unpleasant sharpness. It was absolutely astounding what a little natural light and sobriety could do.

 

Last night, Phil had not noticed the discrete, little hearing aid tucked into Clint’s ear or the numerous, unusual marks littering his torso, including a few long, silvery scars ribboned across his ribs. What the hell else had he missed last night?

 

Or perhaps, Phil had noticed them, but they had slithered by the periphery of his consciousness while his dick screamed for attention and his brain was numbed with alcohol just enough to give Phil the excuse to capitulate to his baser urges.

 

Clint wrapped both of their cocks in a firm grip and began stroking them together.

 

Phil gasped. "Oh, fuck yeah, Clint," he hissed, digging his fingers into Clint’s upper thighs.

 

Phil slid his hand up and down the soft skin, fingertips grazing a cluster of little fingerprint-sized scars. _Cigarette burns? What the hell?_ His thumb grazed another larger, circular scar across Clint’s hip. He closed his eyes and pushed away the flood of thoughts, the stomach-sinking implications of these latest revelations about his bedmate.

 

Clint pressed his palm to Phil’s chest as he began to jerk them off together, grinding his hips down into Phil’s. The unusual calluses on Clint’s fingers catching on Phil’s cock were now much more relevant to Sober Phil. Phil did not like Sober Phil. He was paranoid and nosy and he thought too much. Luckily, that was about as much as Phil could process before his other brain took over and cleared his mind of all but one goal. Sober Phil may have had questions, but Little Phil was still DTF, apparently.

 

"Yeah yeah yeah," Phil encouraged in a whispered chant, rolling his hips in rhythm to Clint’s own thrusts. All too soon, Phil’s abs flexed tight, balls drawing up as he edged on the verge of orgasm. "Oh, fuck, I'm gonna come," he groaned.

 

"Yes, Phil, come for me," Clint breathed, the movement of his hips growing erratic.

 

Phil closed his eyes, jaw tense as his orgasm slammed into him. He groaned fiercely through clenched teeth, feeling light-headed as his muscles locked up. He heard Clint moan loudly a few moments later, felt the legs squeezing his hips trembling violently, followed by a splash of warm cum hitting his stomach.

 

Phil opened his eyes to see Clint arching his back, eyes squeezed shut, teeth biting down hard into his bottom lip as the hand against Phil’s chest grasped convulsively as he became lost in his own pleasure. So this was what Clint’s face looked like in the throws of pleasure, Phil thought. Drunk Phil and Sober Phil had one thing in common, at least. They both found this gorgeous, enigmatic man to be utterly enrapturing.

 

Phil watched with wide eyes as cum shot in long arcs out of Clint’s cock and splattered all over Phil’s chest and stomach. _Jesus_ , he thought, as some of Clint’s cum landed on his cheek and near the corner of his mouth. _That was a first. (_ He seemed to be having a disconcerting amount of firsts for a forty year old man, in his opinion.) He had never had someone come all over him like that before. He was not sure what he thought of the cum shower, but watching Clint come undone with that blissed out expression spread warmth through his belly and made his spent cock twitch helplessly.

 

Then Clint seemed to come back to himself. He opened his eyes and looked down at Phil with a quiet laugh— face flushed, eyes bright and almost gold in the morning light. He seemed slightly embarrassed. Phil had thought he had imagined it last night, but Clint seemed almost shy right after he came, almost as if he could not believe what he had just done. It was such a shocking contradiction to the brazenly lewd-mouthed, uninhibitedly libidinous man from moments before. _Well, aren't you a mystery_ , Phil thought. _Well, of course he is. You hardly know him aside from how to make him come, you idiot._

 

"Good morning," Clint said with a lazy, pleased smile before leaning down to grant Phil a soft, sweet kiss. As he pulled away, he flicked his tongue against the corner of Phil's mouth, catching the little splash of come that had landed there.

 

_God, what a sexy man. A sexy, secretive man. Christ, Phil, could you be any gayer?_

 

Phil did not exactly shout his sexuality from the rooftops. He was a private man. He was not the kind of man to place picture frames on his desk or share smiley, coupley vacation photos around the office but on the rare occasion when he felt the need to consider his sexual orientation, he never considered himself...not straight. Not exactly. He had made his choices a long time ago, after all.

 

Okay, now was not the time to completely reevaluate his sexual identity. He had not even had his first cup of coffee. And frankly, some things he was just too damn old and tired for.

 

"Um, morning." Okay, Phil really needed to utilize more of his vocabulary, like right fucking now.

 

"I wasn't sure if I should wake you, you were sleeping so well," Clint said as he dismounted and hopped off the bed. "I called my room to check on Nat," he talked over his shoulder as he walked to the bathroom. The rush of water sounded from the tap. "She was pretty pissed about me waking her up," Clint said with a chuckle. “Which means she’ll be down for the count at least until lunch.” He emerged from the bathroom with a wet cloth and remounted Phil, wiping away their cum from his chest and stomach.

 

The man was so thoughtful. _How many things is that now? Gorgeous, great in bed, thoughtful. And mostly likely dangerous. Don’t forget that. He hadn’t likely given himself those knife wounds and bullet holes. So four things. No, five. His name is Clint. Maybe. Okay, back down to four. That’s not a bad start._

 

And why was he making a getting-to-know-you checklist of this man who would most likely not be in his bed much longer, anyway?

 

"Wow. We made quite a mess. Again. I guess it has been a while for both of us." Clint dropped the washcloth on the floor and leaned over Phil, pressing their damp, naked bodies together. "I didn't know what you were doing today. I'm meeting Nat and another friend later but I thought maybe we could have breakfast or something if you don’t have plans."

 

Clint had no idea what he was doing. He was afraid he was being too pushy, too needy. He was usually too afraid to ask for more, for what he really wanted. It had been so, so long since he had felt like this, since he had let himself feel the depth of his want.

Maybe his desperation had grown so much as to finally outweigh a lifetime of disappointment. But he wanted to eke out every possible second with this man. He could not explain why, but every kiss, every touch only amplified his need all the more rather than slake it. There was something so inexplicably yet tangibly safe about the older man that made Clint want to spend many more nights in his arms. He could not remember when he had been able to sleep in bed with another person other than Natasha. It seemed like nothing short of a miracle.

 

"What time is it?" Phil practically threw Clint off of him as he sat up, reaching for the alarm clock on the nightstand. Phil cursed when he saw the flashing red 12:00. There must have been a shortage or power surge during the night. He knew he should have set the alarm on his phone! _Fuck fuck fuck._ "Have you seen my watch?" Phil leapt out of the bed and began rummaging through their discarded clothes, forcing himself to move at a less than frantic pace.

 

"Um, I think I saw one next to the sink in the bathroom," Clint said, walking into the bathroom. "Here it is," he called through the open door.

 

Phil cursed under his breath when Clint read him the time. He should have been up an hour ago. He raced to answer the hotel phone when it began to ring. "Maria,” he answered curtly, listening to the woman for a moment, hand perched on his naked hip. “You did? I see. Yeah, sorry, my alarm didn't go off,” lied Phil, very pointedly keeping his eyes diverted toward anything except Clint, but he could feel Clint watching him as he leaned against the bathroom door frame, absently fondling Phil’s watch.

 

"No, I must have forgotten to put my phone on the charger,” Phil visibly cringed.

 

Clint swallowed his disappointment even as he let his eyes wander hungrily over the older, undressed man, trying to satisfy his lingering hunger in case this was the last Clint ever saw of him.

 

“No, I don't think I'm going to make breakfast and I have my first seminar in less than an hour, so.... Yeah. Sounds good. I'll see you then. Bye." Phil replaced the phone on the hook and turned to the other man.

 

"So I guess breakfast is off the table," Clint said with a rueful little smirk, twirling the watchband around his index finger.

 

"I'm sorry. Look, Clint...," he began, hands back on his hips. Then he realized his underwear was still pulled down to the tops of his thighs. That must have looked pretty ridiculous.

 

"You don't have to explain," Clint interrupted, smiling at Phil as he struggled to pull up his twisted underwear. "We didn't make any promises last night." Promises were just lies waiting to happen, after all.

 

"I'm really sorry about breakfast," Phil said, walking to the closet to pick out a suit for the day. He did not know if he was actually sorry about breakfast; it just seemed like the polite thing to say. He could only imagine sitting down to have a meal with a stranger he had slept with a couple of times would be awkward as hell. "I hope you don't think I'm the kind of guy to just sleep with someone and throw them out with the garbage the next morning...." _Except that's exactly what you're doing, asshole._ "But I have a meeting I have to get to and I barely have time for a shower and shave as it is...."

 

"It's fine," Clint said. "I know this isn't a vacation for you. You told me last night." _Oh, that's right._ Phil had. "Make the most of it. Love, A." Phil whipped around as Clint read the inscription off the back of his watch. "This is a nice watch. What's that mean, 'Make the most of it?,'" Clint asked as he rubbed a contemplative thumb over the inscription.

 

"Um, it's just something my dad used to say about making the most of the time you're given. He would always say that when he thought I was being petty or holding on to anger. Used to drive me bonkers as a kid. I never really appreciated what he was trying to teach me until our time ran out and he was gone." And what was it about the younger man that had him spilling his guts left and right?

 

"He was a wise man, your dad. So what does A stand for? Adam? Alan? Ambrose?"

 

Phil lifted an eloquent brow. “No.” _Well, fuck me._ What was he supposed to tell him? The truth? _A is for Audrey, my ex? You were my rebound after breaking up with my girlfriend of several years?_ "My ex," he admitted.

 

There, that was not a lie. Clint did not need to know the rest. Although why the truth mattered at this point, Phil did not know. He had nothing to be ashamed of. He could totally be straight if he wanted to! Er, despite evidence to the contrary.

 

"Oh. Must have been pretty special for you to still be wearing his watch," Clint said, handing it over.

 

"We were together a long time. We're still friends." Or at least he hoped they could be. They had been once. _Phil, we talked about this. I thought you weren't going to explain anything._

 

Clint nodded. "I never understood how people can be an integral part of a person's life for years and then just disappear, never to be seen again."

 

It was just something Clint had come to not only accept but expect. So much about his life was transient. Except perhaps for Natasha.

 

"My friends think I'm only trying to hold onto the past instead of moving on," Phil confessed. Christ, what was this man? His therapist? Actually, this man probably now knew as much about Phil’s love life as his actual therapist. He almost laughed to himself. Well, his therapist often bemoaned that he needed to talk to someone. Why that someone had to be a naked man he had just come all over, he had no idea.

 

"Someone told me once that people come into our lives for a reason." Clint stepped right up into Phil’s personal space. "Sometimes those people are meant to be around only briefly. Maybe there's a lesson we need to learn from them and then move on. Sometimes we outgrow people." Clint traced featherlight fingertips up Phil’s arm and across his collar bone, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps on Phil’s skin. "Then there are those who are meant to be a permanent part of our lives. But we're human beings and we're always evolving. It makes sense that our relationships with people have to evolve as well or we risk being left behind."

 

That was just some bullhockey someone told him once to make him feel better about the ephemeral nature of his life. In Clint’s experience, everything was woefully temporary. Maybe forever was meant for other people. Normal people. Better people than him, that was for sure. And though Clint could hardly have known it, he just knew that Phil was one of those better people.

 

Phil realized they were now standing there naked, staring at each other. He was close enough to feel Clint’s breath on his face. Then Clint stepped away and broke the spell.

 

"I'll just get dressed and get out of your hair. I know that you're here on business and all, but if you have some free time later...." Clint pulled up his jeans and picked up his shirt. "Maybe you'd like to get together one last time." He pulled his shirt on and sauntered back over to Phil, a flirty smile playing over his lips but not quite reaching his eyes. He slipped a hand over the back of Phil’s neck and pulled him into a hard kiss. "No pressure or anything," Clint spoke against his lips, breaking away all too soon.

 

Phil’s lips had a will of their own, and Phil had to step forward to keep from falling when his mouth tried to chase after the kiss.

 

"I hate to make promises I can’t keep. My schedule is pretty tight all day." _Just let him go, Phil. He’s not meant for you._

 

While Phil turned away to button his fresh dress shirt, Clint pulled a tie off the small rack hanging from inside the closet door-- dark blue with subtle purple chevrons-- and replaced it for the silvery polkadot one Phil had thrown across the end of the bed.

 

"Like I said." Clint fastened his wrinkled jeans. "No pressure." He picked up his shoes, and slipped barefoot out the door, leaving a befuddled looking Phil staring after him.

 

It was only after the golden blond had left that Phil realized that Clint had left his underwear behind. And that he had put on his shirt before shaving. As he sighed and reached for his buttons to undo them, he absently looked down at the watch the younger man had slipped into his hand, then cursed when he noticed the time once again.

 

It was going to be a long day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all have been so lovely to read and leave kudos and comments. You deserve more, but this is all I'm capable of at the moment. And by "more," I mean higher quality storytelling. I will continue this story for as long as I am able. Another update is in the works.


End file.
